World Enough and Time
by salty-sarah
Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire instead of three, Viktor Krum spies the figure of young Harry Potter and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world. Canon till the Tournament. Viktor/Harry
1. Chapter 1

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

_The Night of the Drawing of the Names from the Goblet of Fire_

Just a boy.

Lonely. Small. Delicate. Fragile. _Precious. _

Confronted by the truth, Viktor wasn't quite sure what to believe. People shouldn't be protecting themselves from this child. They should be throwing themselves in his path, protecting _him. _He wanted to breathe into Harry Potter's ear, "Can I take you away? Will you let me take you away? Away from the hurt, and the pain, and the sorrow…away from anything and everything. Will you let me take you?"

He didn't.

That the Bulgarian possessed a poetic streak was one of Durmstrang's biggest secrets, right under Karkaroff's having been a Death Eater. That the Bulgarian was also a closet romantic was something only his parents knew and would never share even under threat of a long and agonising death.

The night they announced the fourth champion, he had watched Harry Potter leave the English castle to stand on the edge of the lake. The child was like a tiny crippled starling, perched on the edge of a precipice, presented with two options: to spread his broken wings in an attempt to fly and fall, or to just topple over the edge. Either way led to his death.

Viktor gazed at him from the ship's prow.

Just a boy.

If these English had their say, he would never live to be anything else.

Just a boy: never a man.

Eventually he made his way from the ship to the grounds, carrying a charmed cloak with him. Autumn was only beginning, but already the unforgiving English weather was beginning to cool, and Harry wasn't wearing anything besides a large shirt and oversized jeans.

"You vill catch cold," he said quietly, holding out the cloak when he reached him.

Harry looked up at him, eyes murky in the night. A young face, definitively young; pretty, but only in the way young boys were. Young boys who hadn't grown up.

And yet there was too little flesh on him, what little he had scraped over his cheeks like butter over too much bread.

Harry looked him in the eye, and then dropped his gaze. He either didn't see the cloak, or didn't acknowledge it.

"I'm sorry for ruining your tournament," he whispered. "Your whole school must have been looking forward to it. I didn't mean to do it. I always ruin things by just being _there_, even if I don't touch anything."

Since Harry obviously wasn't going to reach for the cloak himself, he walked closer and draped it over his shoulders.

"Tink nutting of it," he said simply. "I know you did not intend to. Even de Veela, French or not, has enuff sense to realise dat. I do not know de English boy, but if he has enuff sense, he vill realise it too."

"I don't think that's a popular opinion to hold," Harry said, "there's too much common sense in it." His eyes widened and he clapped his hand over his mouth as he realised just what he said. Viktor laughed.

Harry stared at the Quidditch superstar as if he were insane, and for all the boy knew, Viktor Krum _was_ insane. The older teenager was nearly doubled over in laughter, mouth stifled by his hand to keep the noise contained. It was verifiable fact, then, that out of the mouth of babies spouted the words of truth. This whole tournament was insane, except for them. How else could they think a fourteen-year-old half-trained child could hoodwink a millennia-old magical artefact? Viktor had realised that far too many people accepted that 'magic' explained every anomaly and phenomenon. "It's ok if he couldn't otherwise do it, as long as he had magic." It was strange how so many could believe that about a boy, and yet not inspect themselves under the same microscope.

"Dat is Merlin's own truth," he managed out, in between chuckles. "Flurr vill appreciate dat."

"Do you know Fleur from somewhere else?" Harry asked curiously, clenching the cloak about him tighter.

Viktor shrugged. "Dere are so few of us left on de continent, of course ve vill know each other. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons haff rivalry, yes, but it is friendly, no more. Ve exchange students all de time. Ve cannot afford to alienate any possible allies."

Harry sighed. "That's amazing. I've never left the country, and I'd never even met anyone from another country before this. Well, there was that one Japanese girl when I was in elementary school, but Dudley told her I was a freak and…" His voice trailed off and his eyes were blank, lost in what Viktor did not doubt to be unpleasant memories. Harry sighed, once, heavily.

"I vill not mention anyting you do not vant me to to anyvone," Viktor promised without his having to ask.

Harry's eyes softened, and that might have been a smile on those colourless lips. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Us Seekers haff to stick togeder, no?"

Harry almost laughed at that.

"I'll have to go back to castle soon," he said softly, looking at the lightening sky. It was still a good hour or so away from dawn, but the dark of the night was over.

Viktor saw the reluctance and obvious belligerence the boy held for the castle inhabitants and came to a quick decision. "You can stay de night in my room," he offered.

"But the rules-"

"Dey only say you must stay in a dormitory, yes?" Viktor clarified. Upon the younger boy's nod, he continued. "Dey did not specify vich dormitory you must stay in. The Durmstrang room is a dormitory as vell. It is also sovereign territory, meaning it is not part of English country. If you claim political asylum, ve vill grant it, and you do not need to stay in de castle."

"How do you know all that?" Harry marvelled.

Viktor suddenly felt bashful at the wide eyes directed at him. "My father," he muttered, "is de Bulgarian Minister of Magic."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "He must have been terribly proud of that brilliant catch at the World Cup, then?"

Viktor wasn't expecting the sudden leap of topic. What he _had _been expecting were babblings and political favours. But then again, this was the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter. He was more famous than Viktor's father could ever be without even trying. He chuckled at the boy's excitability, and said, "Yes, he vas proud."

"I'm sorry you'll didn't win," Harry continued. "You were brilliant, and you had very good Beaters, but their Chasers and Keeper worked better together."

Viktor nodded. "Ve knew. It vas de most I could do to catch de Snitch. But tell me, Harry. Is dat vat you vish? To leave?" Viktor had a sneaking suspicion that the boy had deliberately gone off tangent with the Quidditch World Cup as to avoid thinking about the decision that lay ahead of him, and had the possibility to change his entire life.

His suspicions were confirmed when Harry's pale cheeks flushed a dull pink. "Was I that obvious?" He muttered.

Viktor laughed. "It vas good effort."

Harry sighed. "That's all I can hope for, then." He heaved another heavy sigh, and looked eastward once more at the lightening sky. He stood there for a long moment, Viktor's heavy cloak wrapped about his thin shoulders. "I think I would like that," he whispered, his voice almost lost in the wind. He let his eyes drift close as a breeze whistled through his wild locks. "I'm tired, so tired, of having to take care of everyone…they can't do anything alone, you know. It always has to be Harry Potter. And once it's done he's swept under the rug again, till the next potentially life-endangering moment."

Viktor put his hand on Harry's shoulder, hoping it would lend him some strength. Harry couldn't quite manage a smile for him, but it was okay, because Viktor understood why. "Let me lead you to my room. But first ve must get your belongings."

"It would make things a lot easier, wouldn't it, if someone could just deliver them to me?" Harry agreed, turning to head back inside. But he was abruptly stopped when he tripped over his own trunk and would have fallen, had Viktor not managed to catch him with his seeker's reflexes. Harry was more astonished than upset that he had nearly done a face-plant. Everything he owned was there, from his ridiculous clothes right down to Hedwig's cage and his Firebolt.

"Ho-how-"

"Master Harry be calling for his trunk, sir!" A chirpy voice replied, and Harry let out a yelp of surprise, sending him straight into Viktor's arms. He carefully peered down, half afraid of what he would find.

Looking innocently up at him, with two bulging eyes the size of tennis balls, was Dobby the house-elf, dressed in a freshly laundered pillowcase.

"Dobby!" Harry gasped. Then a bubbly feeling overtook him and he let out an odd-sounding giggle. "What're you doing here?" All at once he felt a sharp guilt. "Dobby, I'm sorry I never found out where you went after Malfoy- after Malfoy." He bit his lip, suddenly nervous.

But Dobby didn't seem to realise his guilt, if anything. "Dobby is being honoured Master Harry is remembering him! Dobby be working at Hogwarts now, where Dumbles is letting him be free, is giving him leave, and is-" He paused dramatically, glancing about the deserted grounds before whispering, "-paying!"

Harry broke into a hesitant smile. "Dobby, that sounds great. I'm glad you're happy here."

Viktor was still staring at Dobby in confusion. "I do not understand," he confessed.

"Master Krum!" Dobby squeaked, bowing deeply to the Bulgarian wizard. "Dobby is helping Master Harry. If Master Harry be wanting to leave, Dobby is helping him in any way! Master Harry helped Dobby to leave Old Master, too."

The reminder caused Harry to smile fondly down at the little creature. "Viktor, this is Dobby. He belonged to a-" Here he faltered, wondering if he should mention the Malfoys by name, then decided against it, "-an old wizarding family." He didn't seem to remember how he'd just exclaimed 'Malfoy!' twice a few seconds ago, and chose not to elaborate on the details as to how Dobby found himself employed by Hogwarts. Viktor, to Harry's delight, didn't ask. The older boy merely stated archaically, "He has been most helpful tonight."

Dobby immediately threw himself at Viktor's knees and babbled gratefulness. Harry laughed at the nonplussed look on Viktor's face, relieved that Viktor hadn't inquired further. But Viktor hadn't been curious about that at all. Even on the continent he had stories about the Malfoys; they were powerful, here in England, and had obviously mistreated the poor creature for it to go completely barmy.

"Master Harry and Master Krum must call for Dobby if they be needing anything!" He chirped out, and then disappeared with a pop. Harry stood silently for a moment or two after the house-elf left, and then drifted forward to occupy the same space.

"His loyalty…is something to be envied," he murmured, and the longing in his young voice was undisguised.

Viktor laid a hand on his shoulder. "Harry. Ve should go aboard ship. You need sleep, before tomorrow."

Achingly slowly, Harry turned, and followed Viktor aboard the Durmstrang ship, his meagre belongings floating behind them.

* * *

I finally finished this, which made for an immensely rewarding feeling. Now all that's left is editing. Hopefully, I'll get out a chapter a week. There should be about 10 chapters total. Lol if you squint you can see a hint of slash. **Anthem** will be posted later this week. Cheers, guys.


	2. Chapter 2

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T_  


* * *

_

When Harry had swopped out of his ragged muggle clothes – and Viktor had procured some better clothes by shrinking his own, above the child's protests – into pyjamas and fallen asleep, Viktor stayed awake, drawing up documents by faerielight. He had seen the forms and petitions for political asylum many times before in his short life. Despite the European wars being over, wizarding Bulgaria was not a peaceful country. There were always rumblings, rumblings of a revolution. His father said they were too near too opposing forces to ever truly be at peace. Unlike muggle history, the wizarding regions in the Ottoman empire had never fallen apart. Likewise, the wizarding USSR had never fully fallen, either. One country, two masters. When his father had first come to power more than a decade ago, he had carved a firm stance: Bulgaria would answer to none other than their rearing lions (1).

Once the parchments were sanded, and the ink dried, Viktor pulled out a small mirror from the drawer in his desk. He glanced once at the sleeping child on his bed, his dark eyes turbulent. Then he turned his attentions back to the matter at hand.

It was four in the morning here at Hogwarts. That would make it six in Sofia (2). His father would most likely already be awake.

_"Father," _he called softly into the mirror. _"Father, please answer the mirror."_

The mirror pulsed briefly with light, and then began to warm in his hand. Viktor fought hard not to smile, and looked directly into the mirror. Instead of seeing his own reflection, he saw an older version with a broader face to balance his strong nose, long hair pulled back and a neatly trimmed beard.

Branimir Krum smiled warmly at the sight of his son, answering him in their Mother Tongue. _"Viktor. I trust things are going well at the Tri-wizard Tournament?"_

Viktor thought quickly. Obviously Karkaroff hadn't said anything to his father yet about the cup's results, the weaselling bastard. If Branimir Krum had known, he would have stormed right over and demanded a redraw of the Goblet of Fire. Knowing his father's temper, combined with his magical power, Branimir would probably have blasted the Goblet to pieces and broken the binding contract that way.

_"I take it Karkaroff has not contacted you yet, then?" _

Branimir's eyes narrowed at once. _"There is something he should have brought to my attention?" _Viktor hid a smile. Karkaroff was in for hell once this conversation was over. But for now, _he _had to deal with his father's wrath.

_"There were four Champions drawn from the Triwizard Tournament."_

His father's face immediately went stony. Only his eyes revealed just how enraged he was.

Viktor took a deep breath and continued. _"That wasn't the worst of it._

_ "The fourth Champion is the fourteen-year-old Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter."_

Viktor had the dubious pleasure of seeing his father entirely speechless. Branimir's breath escaped his lips in a soft gasp. _"What are they expecting from a child-" _Branimir shook the thoughts from his head. _"No, if you are calling for me now, that means there is something we need to do, and quickly. What is it?"_

Viktor chuckled softly at his father's rapid deduction. As always, Branimir was correct. _"I drew up documents claiming political asylum for him."_

Branimir drew in a sharp breath. _"You know him? I have never heard of any correspondence-" _

_ "No." _Viktor shook his head, firmly cutting that thread of thought immediately. _"He was at the Quidditch World Cup, but you already knew that." _Rather, his father had gone incognito as one of the Bulgarian retinue, allowing Mr. Obalansk to play his part. Branimir would never put himself out in the open for such a frivolous reason, and he knew his son would never expect that of him. _"I met him tonight, after his name was drawn from the Goblet."_

_ "And he trusts you already?" _Branimir asked in a mixture of approval and distrust.

Viktor shook his head again, slowly, sadly. _"He doesn't have anyone else to trust."_

Branimir's face softened. _"Very well. You will vouch for him?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Will it be safe to keep him in the country, then? The public backlash of this-" _Viktor knew what his father was asking, and that this wasn't really a question. Harry Potter's declaration of political asylum was going to be front-page news all over the world.

_"We'll manage, Father," _he murmured.

Branimir nodded approvingly. _"You will have to act in my stead as political advisor. He can never be alone until this business is concluded."_

_ "I understand," _Viktor agreed.

_"Good." _Branimir's voice was all business again. _"Have you signed the forms yet? Good. I will validate them." _The parchments glowed a pale blue. After a moment the light faded. Branimir had just cast a spell validating Viktor's signature as his by proxy. _"Once he wakes, he must sign it immediately."_

Viktor nodded. _"Yes, Father."_

_ "And tell him I am sorry." _Viktor paused at his father's change in tone, startled. _"No child should have had to go through what he has."_

Viktor managed to crack a smile for him. _"The Dragon of Bulgaria, have a heart?" _He teased wearily.

His father mock-scowled at him, but his black eyes were kind. _"Congratulations on being the Durmstrang Champion."_

His father's image vanished from the mirror.

Viktor stared at the empty mirror, seeing only his shocked dark eyes reflected back at him. He should have known his father would have guessed, even if he hadn't said a word…Sighing, he cast a Tempus charm and saw that it was nearly six o' clock here in Scotland. Fleur should be awake by now. He replaced the mirror inside his drawer. Rising, he groaned as he worked the kinks out of his neck and back. Once he felt limber enough, he cast two wards, tying both to him and the slumbering Harry. One would alert him when Harry awoke, and the other would warn him if anyone tried to enter his room. He also layered a couple of offensive hexes within the proximity ward, and keyed them all into his magical signature alone. Now, if anyone tried to enter his room, they were in for a rude, pain-filled shock.

It was still early enough that no one was openly about on the ship, although Viktor was sure his schoolmates were beginning to stir below deck. He quickly crossed the grounds to the Beauxbatons carriage, and knocked on the door. He stepped back, waiting calmly with his hands behind his back.

A sleepy French girl in a dressing robe answered the carriage door.

"_Monsieur_ _Krum_?" She asked, stifling a yawn. "'Ow may I 'elp you?"

He gave her a fleeting smile, and almost at once she seemed more awake. "I vould like to speak vith my fellow Champion, if she is avake," he said.

The girl nodded. "_Bien sûr_, _Monsieur_ _Krum_. I will get 'er at once." She blushed a little. "Would you per'aps, like to wait inside?"

He gently refused her offer. He knew what Madame Maxime would do to him, _and _the girl if she found out he'd been invited into the carriage without her express permission. French society was very adamant on the decency of their young, and would not allow them to be compromised in any way.

The girl left him standing by the door, and went in search of Fleur Delacour. A few minutes later, the Veela girl emerged, her rumpled clothes and tousled hair casting her in an even softer light by the early rays of the morning sun. She stepped out gracefully, tightening her robe about her slim waist in the brisk Scottish air.

"Viktor?" She inquired.

Once he had her in front of her, he was at a loss as to what to say. She had shown open hostility towards Harry during yesterday's meeting, but then again, Veela were known to be short-tempered and hot-headed. Hopefully she would have had enough time to cool off. He took a chance and asked, "Vat do you tink, of de nomination of Harry Potter?"

Her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. "You were not pleased wit' my be'aviour last night, I presume?" He merely gestured for her to continue, not denying or agreeing. "You 'ave every right to be upset wit' me. _I _am upset wit' me! We are talking about a fourteen-year-old boy. _Un enfant_**. **He knows _nozzing. _I 'ave no right to be angry wit' him. It is ze adults who put him into zis pozition zat must be blamed."

Viktor nodded once, signifying his agreement. Fleur's eyes softened. "'ave you seen _l'enfant?_You seem more familiar wit' him zan _moi."_

Here came the real test. "He is in my bedroom." Fleur's eyes widened in horror. Before she could verbally flay the skin off his back, he raised his hand, asking for her patience. "He is sleeping. I found him last night on de edge of de lake. I do not tink his schoolmates haff been kind to him. I am filing for political asylum on his behalf."

Fleur's eyes were like two silver saucers. "Oh. _Oh_. _Mon dieu. _I did not zink it would come to zis…" She demurred immediately, and regained her Champion persona. "You are requesting the support of Beauxbatons in zis endeavour, I presume?"

Viktor nodded, just once.

"I will speak to Madame Maxime, but I have no doubt she will grant it for ze rest of ze school. As for me, you know where my loyalties in zis lie."

Viktor cracked a smile at that. He hadn't been too worried about where the Beauxbatons would side, seeing as how this petition was coming from the Durmstrang body itself rather than its uncouth Headmaster, but it was always nice to know for sure.

"Vone more favour, if you vould, Flurr." The Veela inclined her head politely, showing her willingness to listen.

"Vill you go into Hogwarts and talk to de English boy about dis? I vould go myself, but I must attend to…" he trailed off, feeling one of the wards tingling beneath his skin. So Harry had awoken. He looked at her questioningly.

Fleur smiled. _"Oui, _and I will even speak to 'im razzer zan charm 'im." They shared a quiet laugh in the morning air. He bowed briefly to her. "You haff my gratitude, Flurr."

She curtsied, transforming her bathrobe and nightdress into the richest of garments. "I will meet you outside ze 'all," she said, "and wit' luck I will be bringing Diggory wit' me. It will be better if we show solidarity be'ind our youngest Champion, _non?" _

Viktor hadn't even thought of that.

"You are truly an asset to your school, Flurr," he said, even causing her to blush faintly. He nodded at her again, and then strode quickly back to the ship. He nodded briefly to the few students he ran into, but didn't stop to chat. His main priority was Harry. Once outside his cabin door, he saw that the protective ward remained untouched. He placed a palm on the wooden door, using his magical signature to disengage the ward. Once it was down, he knocked on the door, and announced his presence. "Harry? It is Viktor. I am coming in."

He slipped into his room, and faced the most important fourteen-year-old in the wizarding world.

* * *

(1) The Bulgarian coat-of-arms is of two rearing lions on oak twigs clutching a scarlet crest.

(2) Bulgaria is two hours ahead of London, and I'm using GMT for the ease of things, rather than roping in Scottish time as well.

Names

Branimir – Bulgarian for 'great/famous protection'

Thanks for the support everyone. Is it terrible to say that I was a little surprised? But it really does mean a lot to hear your enthusiasm about these two critters. And I really hope I live up to all the hype (o; _Encore, _thanks for reading. Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

It was obvious Harry had just risen. He was still groggy, and he hadn't even gone for his spectacles yet.

"Viktor…" He yawned, small mouth stretching as far as it could. He blinked blearily a couple of times, and then finally picked up his glasses. He stared drowsily at the older teenager in front of him for a few moments, before his memories of the night before surfaced.

"Oh no, Viktor, please tell me I didn't steal your bed!" he exclaimed pitifully.

Viktor stared at him for a long moment, stunned that this child would still think of _his _own immediate comfort despite the load of dragon dung that had been hoisted on his shoulders in the last 24 hours. He did the only thing he could in such a situation: he broke out into deep, basset laughter.

Harry obviously hadn't been expecting that, going by the startled look on his face, but soon joined in in quieter, more restrained laughs.

"I trust you slept vell?" Viktor inquired. "I am sorry you did not manage to rest for long-"

"No!" Harry immediately burst out. "I slept very well. And honestly, I got more sleep than I had expected. I hadn't thought I'd be able to sleep last night at all, honestly." He quietened briefly, before turning brilliant green eyes to the Bulgarian teenager. "And you? I hope you managed to find a comfortable place to sleep. You should never have let me have the bed in the first place, the closet would have been perfectly fine-"

His mouth snapped shut with a loud clack as he looked horrified as what he let slip. He looked pleadingly at Viktor, willing the older boy to let it go. Of course, Viktor did nothing of the sort.

"You vere made to sleep in a closet before?" His voice was very quiet, but that did nothing to hide the amount of danger emanating from his round-shouldered person. Harry wouldn't meet his eye, and that was as good as an admission of guilt.

"Ve vill deal vith dis later," he warned Harry. "Just know dat vatever it vas, you did not deserve it."

Harry's reply was so soft for a moment Viktor thought he'd only imagined it. "But how do you _know?"_

Viktor was silent for a long moment. How did he know? Although he'd known _of _the Boy-Who-Lived all his life, he'd only met Harry Potter yesterday. Harry apparently understood his need for time and space to carefully consider this affair.

"Each child is meant to be cherished and protected. Dere is nutting about you, Harry Potter, that tells me you should have been treated odervise," he said truthfully.

Harry looked almost as if were physically struck by his words. His head bowed in silent contemplation.

But first, I need your signature on dese."

He walked over to the desk to retrieve the claims of political asylum. Harry ran a reverent hand over the vellum parchments. Then he read the words on them, and his eyes widened.

"These are-"

Viktor nodded. "Yes. Dese are declarations of political asylum. De moment you sign dese, you vill become vard of Bulgaria. As my father's son, de two of us vill form an international delegation, vhich means if de English even try to do anyting dey vould be starting an international var."

Harry gaped at the possible repercussions of one tiny signature. Viktor caught the look of longing he sent it, and then Harry pushed it away.

"No," he gasped, as if the words were physically hurting him, "I can't sign something like this. Not when there's so much at stake-"

Viktor wanted to hit something. This boy was too damn selfless for his own damn good.

"Harry," Viktor intoned deeply, "Sign it."

"But-" Harry protested weakly.

"Sign it."

Harry closed his eyes in pain. "I can't- not when there's so much at risk. More people can't die because of me, Viktor."

Looking at the petite figure of the boy, Viktor had to wonder just what lay behind those emerald orbs.

"Do not vorry your pretty little head about it." Harry whipped his head around and scowled at the Bulgarian. Viktor chuckled, having successfully derailed Harry from his moroseness. "Harry, dere are some tings vorth fighting for. Some tings vorth dying for. Protecting our young- no matter vat de cost- is one of dem. Please, let me help you in dis."

Harry's gaze flickered tremulously between Viktor's dark eyes the vellum parchment. After a long, tense moment, his shoulders sagged and he relented. "Alright," he rasped, "I'll sign it." His eyes were still fearful when he scrawled his name at the bottom of the papers.

"Harry, you must know dat no Eenglishman can demand private audience. As member of a visiting international delegation, you are allowed to haff an escort vith you at all times. For now, dat vill be me, if you do not mind."

Harry gasped at that. "I didn't mean to chain you to me!" he immediately apologised.

Oh, by Merlin! Was there no end to the child's selfless behaviour? "I didn't mean for that at all," Harry babbled onwards, his brilliant green eyes darting fearfully at the older boy. "I don't care what it says, I'll follow you about at your convenience. And if you ever need a hand with anything-"

Viktor raised a hand to stem the tide of words pouring out of the child's mouth. "Harry. You must understand something. Ve are doing dis for _you. _Everyting dat ve are doing is of our own free vill. You owe us nutting. It vill be nutting more dan minor inconvenience. Can you understand dat?"

Very slowly, the child nodded, although the remnants of doubt still gathered in his eyes.

"Good," Viktor said, gifting him with a smile. "Vy don't you go to de bathroom and shower. I must speak vith my schoolmates. If you vill vait for me to return before getting dressed? I need to find de Bulgarian insignia, but I vant to catch most of my schoolmates before dey leave for breakfast."

Harry nodded at once. He turned towards the bathroom, and then paused. "Thank you, Viktor," he said softly. "Thank you for everything." He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind him.

Viktor was relieved to find nearly all of his schoolmates on deck before they left for breakfast in the Hogwarts Great Hall. Even better yet, Karkaroff hadn't managed to arrive either.

Viktor pointed to his throat and cast the sound amplifying charm. _"May I have your attention please!" _

The magically magnified voice of Viktor Krum drew all eyes to the prow, where the teenager stood. _"Harry Potter has filed for political asylum from Bulgaria after last night's fiasco."_

A din erupted at his words. Surprisingly, or maybe not, the overall feeling he got from the students was a sense of 'about bloody time'. Personally, Viktor had to agree. There were too many things that had gone wrong in Harry's life of late. If he hadn't yet met the boy, he'd be down there with his schoolmates wondering how the hell a fourteen-year-old managed to handle with remarkable aplomb most things a forty-year-old would never face.

_"Harry Potter and I will form the Bulgarian International Delegation. I would appreciate it if you would make him welcome, and keep an eye out on him. He must never be left alone. My father does not trust the English, and neither do I."_

Unlike most of the wizarding world, the students in Durmstrang actually knew just who Viktor was referring to when he said 'my father'. Unlike Lucius Malfoy, Viktor's father had more than money and a sneer to throw around, and best of all, he commanded an earned respect rather than a bought one. Another murmur went up among the gathered students.

_"Beauxbatons has already been informed of recent events. Their Champion, Fleur Delacour, stands with us. As of this moment, the opinion of Hogwarts and their Champion is still undecided."_

_ "Does that mean there are two Durmstrang champions now?" _Someone asked.

That question stumped Viktor. He'd never thought of it that way.

_"I don't know," _he confessed quietly. _"But please, keep an eye out for English treachery. Thank you."_

The gathered students nodded as one, in a ripple of bobbling heads. Viktor couldn't hide his smile at the sight.

When he returned to his room, Harry had just left the shower, dwarfed in one of his thick charcoal bathrobes. His black hair was still sopping wet and dripping. Viktor immediately clucked his tongue at the sight and went for a smaller towel, draping it over the boy's wet head and furiously towelling it dry.

"Vat is it vith you and trying to catch cold?" He jibed playfully. He got a tentative smile in return as Harry slowly reached up to take the towel from him and continue drying his hair in a gentler fashion.

Once he was satisfied that Harry would dry himself off properly, he turned his back on the boy and began rummaging through his drawers for proper robes. He always kept official sets with him wherever he travelled, in case his father ever needed him to act as an emissary on his behalf, which had already happened several times before. He managed to produce two sets of official robes, sleek robes of charcoal and navy blue forming a brilliant contrast against rearing gold lions of the Bulgarian crest. He brushed a tender finger against national motto: "Unity Renders Power". It couldn't be truer for a state that had been together since 7 A.D.

Viktor set the robes onto the bed, and then looked across the room at Harry, trying to gauge his size. He cast a shrinking spell, and then scowled at how small the robes became.

"Here," he said, "Vear dese. Dey show you as international delegation. You are protected by international vizarding law now."

"Viktor," Harry began hesitantly, "thank you. For everything you've done. If there's ever anything I can do for you-"

Viktor smiled at him. "Do not vorry about tings like dat. First ve must get you through dis tournament, and den ve vill get you out of Eengland."

There wasn't much Harry could say to that, so he shyly offered up another smile, and a quiet, "thank you."

Viktor nodded briskly. "I vill go shower. You can dress in de room."

He picked up the other set of robes and went into the bathroom. Once inside, he took a deep breath. This was going to be an uphill fight every step of the way. He gathered all his resolve, and hardened it. He hadn't been lying when he said he'd do this for any wizarding child abused to this extent. But he was even more driven on behalf of that child waiting outside for him.

Together they marched across the grounds to the Great Hall. It made Viktor slightly disgusted to realise that no one had even realised, or if they had, _cared, _about where Harry had disappeared to last night. In Durmstrang, the upper levels were free to roam the castle at whatever times they wished, but the younger ones were carefully monitored. He knew it was the same way in Beauxbatons. No Continental wizarding school could afford to lose any wizarding children, not now when there were so few of them left. Hogwarts had just over 300 students, spread across seven years. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had ten-year curriculums, and even then they had maybe a 1000 students each. Just sixty years ago those numbers were almost triple what they were now. The wars had deftly taken their toll on the European student population.

At the front of the hall, awaiting them patiently, was Fleur Delacour, and a rather red-faced Cedric Diggory. Harry looked shocked to see them both there, and was even more stunned when Fleur actually smiled, and curtsied to him. He clumsily bowed back at her, unable to completely erase the look of astonishment across his face.

"Excuse my behaviour last night, _Monsieur Potter, s'il-vous-plaît. _I was razzer taken aback by ze announcement and was not myself."

"No," Harry said breathlessly, "It was no problem at all." He blushed a dark pink. "I'm sorry for ruining your tournament. I don't know- how-" Anger and frustration flashed across the young face. Viktor gently placed his hand on Harry's shoulder in silent solidarity, and the boy took a deep breath before releasing it, shakily.

"I'm sorry, too, Potter. Harry." The normally eloquent Hufflepuff prefect was stumbling over his words now. "I'm a disgrace to my house. No matter what, we were chosen to be Hogwarts champions, and we should've stuck together- _I_ should've stuck together. With you. The Ravenclaws, too. They're a disgrace to their supposed intelligence." Cedric's handsome face darkened briefly as he thought back to some of the 'intelligence' the Ravenclaws had displayed earlier in the Hall. "I don't have any excuses for the other two houses.

"Fleur told me what the situation was, and I'm honoured that you trust me enough to bring me into a part of this. I-I don't know if you remember, but my dad- he works at the Ministry of Magic. It's just at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but he knows people in the International Law division. I've owled to him already, and we'll try to clear your way out of here once this bloody thing is over with."

Harry looked as if he would hyperventilate at the older boy's words. He obviously hadn't been expecting such a show of solidarity so soon. Cedric seemed to recognise this, and continued.

"I'm sure Viktor's already told you this, but wizarding children are important to our world. I don't know what the Headmaster and Crouch are playing at, letting you compete. The rest of us are qualified and legally recognised as adults. You don't have that same compensation. I'll make sure Hufflepuff sees some sense, at least," he declared, looking quite put out at his house.

"We 'ave wasted enough time outside," Fleur said. "Do not ever leaff one of us, at all times, 'arry. I do not trust what zese English wizards will do next." She looked at Viktor. "You 'ave ze documents?"

The Bulgarian nodded. "My father has a copy as vell. The magical claim has already been approved. By international law dey cannot touch him."

"I do not know if zat is enough to stop zem," Fleur said, looking angry. Then her pretty face softened, and she took Harry's hand in her own. "'ere goes nuzzing!" She added impishly, winking at Harry and bringing a smile to his face. Together, the four Champions entered the Great Hall.

* * *

Oh, oops. Maybe you'll don't quite get to see Dumbledore's response, not quite yet (o: However, as it is spring break next week, I'm looking to at least get that chapter out early.

Just a note about Harry's behaviour in this chapter: he's just made a rather monumental decision, and for the first time is having someone else sacrifice something for his sake. He's reverting to his previous persona to deflect the abuse he's still expecting. It will stabilise somewhat in later chapters as he gets more comfortable around Viktor. Hope that clarifies things a bit (o: Cheers.


	4. Chapter 4

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

You could have heard a pin drop.

Despite all the antagonism of the past 12 hours, the four school Champions were standing together, the three taller figures obviously taking up points of guard around the smallest. Two of them were wearing official robes. Once they came close enough to the staff table for the professors to see the crests, all blood drained from their faces.

And as suddenly as the silence had come, it was broken.

The Hogwarts students were on their feet, yelling and shouting, while the foreigners were conspicuously silent. Madame Maxime looked like a cat who'd just gotten her cream- and her canary. Karkaroff looked outraged that one of his students would go behind his back like this.

But the look on Dumbledore's face was utterly pensieve-worthy. He looked every last one of his years in that moment.

"Harry Potter has declared political asylum from Bulgaria," Viktor announced stoically. "He is Bulgarian political refugee. You have no right to speak to him unless it is through a Bulgarian international delegation, and dere is only ovne here – me. He is no longer student of Hogwarts or British citizen and vill reside in Durmstrang quarters. Dat is all."

The four of them turned as one to sit in the middle of an empty table specially made for the international students. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang further surprised the English students by rising from their respective places all over the hall on the other tables and seating themselves together, as one solid unit. While it was a small delegation, numbering less than thirty students altogether, they represented the cream of the crop of the new generation of Continental wizards and witches. One move against any of them would pull England into the biggest international disaster since Grindelwald.

Dumbledore regained a bit of his grandfatherly persona and his bright blue eyes began to twinkle. "Mr. Potter, perhaps I could have a word-"

"Headmaster, Viktor spoke in perfectly clear English." Hogwarts students all across the hall were stunned. They had never heard the Hufflepuff prefect speak in such cold tones. Usually, Cedric, with his fair complexion and wide open smile, was the epitome of his house. But now…"The only one that can relay whatever you wish to say to Harry is Viktor. If you would, kindly go through the correct political channels."

"Mr. Diggory-" an irate McGonagall began.

"Professor, no disrespect meant, but I don't know what you adults were thinking when you accused a _fourteen-year-old muggle-raised child _of hoodwinking an _ancient artefact_." If anything, Cedric's voice was even icier. "And then you force him to compete in a tournament where adults with _twice _his training have been killed. I don't know what game you're playing at, but whatever it is, _leave Harry out of it." _No one saw the sudden gleam of shrewdness flash in Moody's one good eye.

Cedric turned away from a stunned Gryffindor head of house back to his breakfast. Sprout was so shocked that she couldn't even take away points from Cedric for being disrespectful to a teacher.

"'ere, 'arry, you must eat more," Fleur murmured in the shocked silence, adding some scrambled eggs to his plate, and pouring him a cup of milk.

* * *

They jeered at him in the corridors, of course. They'd never stop, would they? It didn't matter if he was trying to help them or not. They all presumed to know him since they knew his story, knew his name. He turned his mind away from the English and sighed. He couldn't even bear to think upon those he had personally known, for over three years. He could only thank Merlin that Viktor wasn't like that. He wiggled around in his bed and looked at the older teenager sleeping soundly behind him. After the first night, Viktor had been even more insistent that he take the bed again, but apparently he hadn't been expecting _him _to be just as stubborn as well. A tiny smile graced his lips at the memory. He had been Sorted into Gryffindor, after all. Viktor had blushed at his suggestion, although he hadn't quite understood why.

He gently stretched out a hand and touched Viktor's Quidditch-toned arm. The feel of the other's flesh and muscle was warm, and its solidity comforted him. Viktor was present, Viktor was there. He closed his eyes against the soft feel of his pillow and the heat emanating from the form beside him, and let Morpheus take him.

* * *

"Viktor, I have a question."

Viktor had to fight the grin that threatened to overtake his face. A week he had spent with Harry Potter, and the boy had been nothing but unfailingly polite, never asking anything for himself, instead continually wondering if Viktor needed any assistance. His behaviour was subservient, almost House-Elfish. And when English wizards had tried to waylay him in the corridors, his smaller form had shrunk against Viktor's, quailing beneath the harsh eyes and harsher voices. Viktor had pondered the hints the boy had dropped unwittingly from time to time: the comment about the closet, and Dobby the House-Elf; if Harry had truly been mistreated as Viktor suspected, then it didn't surprise him that he would play the knight in shining armour for another creature as morbidly abused as Dobby had been, even if the Malfoys were in the legal clear for their mistreatment of their House Elf.

He had considered calling Dobby to him and interrogating the creature about Harry's past, but didn't fool himself into thinking that such a move wouldn't completely destroy any of the boy's trust for him. He would have to wait for Harry to tell him himself- if he ever did.

Viktor turned to Harry, a faint smile on his lips. "Vat is it?"

Harry was tugging at his shirtsleeves, a sure sign that he was nervous.

"I was- was wondering, about- political asylum."

Viktor nodded encouragingly. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if- if you'd offer that to someone else, too."

Now he'd gone and gotten Viktor curious.

"Somevone else? Who?"

"My godfather," Harry said in a small voice.

"Who is dat? And vhy vould he be running avay from British vizards?"

"He was framed," Harry exclaimed heatedly, a rather cross frown adorning his small face. "The more I think about it, the more-" He shook his head, sending his dark locks flying everywhere. He was growing the wild mop out, and at this stage it rather threatened to overtake the thin pale face beneath, but Harry had said he liked it long, and so Viktor didn't comment. "He never got a trial. They just threw him into Azkaban without even having the courtesy to tell him his sentence to his face," he spat, emerald eyes flashing.

Viktor carefully tilted Harry's chin up to face him, and inwardly marvelled at the myriad of emotion across his face. His expression had never been more open than now. "I vill see vat ve can do for him," the older boy said. "I cannot promise miracles, but if he has been as wronged as you say, dere is definitely a case ve can build." He paused, and his dark eyes raked over the white face staring back at him. "Who is he?" he asked again.

Then Harry told him, and all other questions became irrelevant.

"He's Sirius Black."

* * *

"_Sirius Black? The mass murderer?"_

Viktor shook his head in the mirror. _"According to Harry, he had nothing to do with those murders. It was Peter Pettigrew- the other friend of the Potters', the one awarded the Order of Merlin, who's supposed to be dead. Black thought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would never go after a weakling like Pettigrew, and then went off and tried to attract the Dark Lord's attention. But Pettigrew was a Death Eater, and he betrayed them."_

_ "How-" _Branimir choked, and cut himself off. _"How did no one hear of this? He was the most feared 'Death Eater' in the whole of Europe for a time and he's been out for what- more than a year-"_

Viktor shrugged, concerned less with the how's and more concerned with the what's-to-be-done-about-it's. _"I have wondered about it too," _he lied. Branimir hid a smile at his son, so innately incurious. _"Harry is wondering if you will extend the same courtesy to Black as you have to him."_

Branimir pondered thoughtfully. It would be fun going behind the British Ministry's and tweaking their nose like this. They were making no allies here in England, certainly, but all over the rest of the wizarding world, Bulgaria had never been more popular.

_"It will be difficult," _he said at last. _"We cannot be seen as openly aiding Black in any way. If he can make it to Bulgaria without being caught-"_

Viktor let out a low whistle. Bulgaria was not a stone's throw away from Britain, which was where he understood his charge's godfather to be. _"I will let him know, then."_

_ "You do not think he will be upset at this verdict?" _he asked, honestly curious.

Viktor gave his father a small smile, and thought of the flash of cunning and resourcefulness that would surface from emerald depths more and more frequently. _"I do not know how, but I am sure Harry will come up with something."

* * *

_

He told Harry his father's words later that day. Harry nodded thoughtfully, accepting his words at face value. He thanked him, and then continued petting Hedwig, although a while later he pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled something when he thought Viktor wasn't looking. He pretended to turn about for a book, which gave Harry the opening he needed to send Hedwig out the window.

That same evening, he spotted Harry trotting to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Curious, and more than a little worried, he followed the boy at a discrete distance. When he reached a spot where the foliage grew thickest, he heard a rustling, and he gaped as a Grim, half-buried beneath handfuls of dried leaves, rose to its feet. The monster was huge, coming up almost to his waist and easily towering over Harry in sheer bulk. When it caught sight of the boy, its long pink tongue lolled out of its mouth in greeting. Its open maw did nothing to hide the inch-long fangs that would fit all too easily around Harry's arm.

"Hey, Snuffles," the boy greeted the dog softly, stroking the sensitive ears. Viktor barely managed to stop himself from snorting at the banality of the name. Then he dug in the pocket of his robes and produced a key. The Grim let out a piteous whine that seemed most out of character for a death-dog. "Knowing you, you've probably gone and lost yours over the summer, haven't you? Don't argue with me, Snuffles, the goblins won't mind. How else do you explain my Firebolt?"

The Grim seemed to grin and gave Harry's fingers a tentative lick. "Besides, Dumbledore probably has the Ministry watching your vault now," Harry said, "but I don't think they'll watch mine." He slipped the key into an envelope, which he sealed and handed to the Grim. The canine took it gingerly between its enormous teeth. "Just give that to the goblin at the counter. If they're really as greedy as everyone says they are, they won't turn down a hundred galleon bonus to make you an international portkey. Cedric always talks about how his dad goes to Gringotts for _his _portkeys, that they're much more secure than wizard-made ones. They cost less than a hundred galleons, so I'm sure that's a decent enough bribe."

The Grim whined, beating its tail loudly against the ground, and flattened its ears against the top of its head. Harry laughed softly and patted it on its huge head. "Get out of here, Padfoot. Go get your freedom, and when you get back we can talk some more."

The Grim darted forward and rested its grimy head against Harry's chest for a brief moment, and then turned about and disappeared into the forest.

Two days later, Branimir called. Sirius Black was now a political refugee in Bulgaria. Over the demands of the British, he was given a public trial using Veritaserum and cleared of all charges. He was then declared the legal guardian of one Harry James Potter.

* * *

There you have it: the Hogwarts confrontation and the matter with Sirius (o: Cheers.


	5. Chapter 5

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

To answer a previous question, this piece won't be dealing a lot with the Hogwarts side- basically what you've read so far is what you get. I'm focusing on Harry and the Champions, and their actions against Britain.

_Before the First Task_

"They're mad, you know that?" Cedric demanded, pacing about in the Room of Requirement. "Off their rockers, nothing left in their bloody noggins, you know that?"

The four Champions had found this place when looking for a room to safely meet up and discuss the tournament without being overheard by any Briti- _unscrupulous, _beings. Unsurprisingly, Harry had been the one to find it, after suggesting they ask the house-elves for a location, because who would know the castle better than the ones who cleaned every nook and cranny of it? Fleur had been a little leery of trusting the tiny creatures, but after actually seeing the room, she'd been a fast convert. The First Task was in a week, and Madame Maxime had leaked them the challenges in hope that they would be able to help their youngest through it. Dumbledore, of course, had tried to use that as an inroad into a private interview with Harry, but his burly Bulgarian bodyguard wouldn't be budged on that account.

The old man had tried to get Harry alone in a myriad of ways, each attempt sneakier than the last, but Fleur had finally had enough and snapped. Not ten minutes ago she had sent Dumbledore scuttling down the corridor from her Veela form, with the loud screeches and fireballs her ancestors were renowned for.

Now that the Champions had managed to steal away, all they had to do was find a way for a fourteen-year-old boy to get past a mature dragon who was also a recent nesting mother.

"How the hell are they expecting a fourteen-year-old to battle a bloody dragon? Bloody hell, how the hell are they expecting _us _to battle a bloody dragon!"

Ever since the Champions had made their first showing together, Cedric had taken up the unofficial role of worrywart. Fleur continued to mother everyone, as she was grateful that these three males, at least, would look at her face when speaking to her rather than her chest. She was currently preening Harry's unruly hair with her delicate fingers. Harry drowsily rolled over onto his back in Fleur's lap, and mused to himself almost inaudibly, "Can't be that much worse than facing a basilisk now, could it?"

At his words, the other three froze and turned as one to stare at their youngest.

"A basilisk?" Cedric asked weakly.

Fleur wore a look of dread. "Am I sure I want to know why you suddenly brought zat up? Am I going to get an 'eart attack when I find out? Ough, _mon dieu-"_

Harry sat up, face flushed. "It was nothing, really. Forget that I said anything-"

"Merlin," Cedric whispered in awe, "that was in Fourth-Year, wasn't it? That was what was creeping around the school petrifying people?"

Viktor goggled at him. "Students vere petrified in corridors and no vone did anyting?"

"They were all hiding it," Harry realised suddenly. "I thought Dumbledore would have explained everything after Ginny was kidnapped."

"He didn't say a damn thing!" Cedric exploded. "He just said you'd managed to save her and that was the end of it!"

Fleur gulped. "Zere was a _basilisk _in zis _school?" _Her large silvery eyes turned to him for an answer.

Harry's face bloomed Gryffindor red. "Past tense would be correct," he admitted quietly.

To say the other three were stunned would be an understatement.

"_'Ow_?" Fleur breathed.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, not looking any of them in the eye and trying as hard as he could to turn the attention away from his person. "It wasn't anything. It was just something that had to be done. And I had a lot of help. Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, and the Sorting Hat. And Gryffindor's sword."

"You killed a _basilisk _with a bloody _sword?"_ Cedric whooped. "Damn, they should just give you the trophy already and screw everything else!" Even Fleur was looking positively green.

"Vat happened to de basilisk?" Viktor asked quietly.

Harry tentatively opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. "I don't know, actually," he confessed.

A knock on the door made them all freeze. When it swung open, all four wands were out, pointed in its direction. A thin, pretty blond in torn Ravenclaw robes poked her head in. Radishes dangled from her ears.

"Is this a safe place to hide? The Rumpleskilts are after me again."

Without waiting for an answer, she slipped into the room, ignoring the unwavering wands pointed at her.

Cedric stared at her in surprise.

"Luna?"

The girl looked up. She had huge baby-blue eyes that seemed to look right at him and through him at the same time. "Cedric," she greeted the older boy calmly. "How are your Glittering Snufflegruffs doing?"

"Just fine-" he absently replied before shaking his head testily, much to the other Champions' amusement. "That isn't the point- what are you doing here, Luna?"

Luna looked up at him unblinkingly. "I already said, I was hiding from the Rumpleskilts."

Cedric faltered. "Uh- ah, okay." It didn't seem he quite knew what to say to that. Then he turned to the other Champions. "This is Luna Lovegood. She's a third-year Ravenclaw…she's harmless, really."

Luna nodded sagely. "It's the Orange Gob-Gobblers that are dangerous," she said. "Us Nargles mean well, and generally don't hurt anybody unless provoked."

Once again, no one quite knew what to say to her. Then Harry slowly lowered his wand, and smiled, and held out his hand to her.

The others in the room all looked at him in surprise. True to the political document, he had stopped attending classes in Hogwarts, had not stepped a foot back into the castle unless it was for meetings like these or meals. In place of his Fourth-Year classes he'd been alternating lessons between Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, learning both languages with the help of a rudimentary charm that would fade off once he naturally grasped a decent command of both languages.

But when he did enter these stone walls, Harry proved uncannily good at avoiding being cornered as he moved about the castle with barely a whisper to document his passage, accompanied only by Viktor's hulking shadow at his side. He seemed to blend into the tapestries and various suits of amour that adorned the walls, slipping easily behind the Bulgarian's larger mass when confronted by gaggles of English students. Still, he hadn't spoken to a single other Hogwarts student besides Cedric, although Ron had tried to jeer at him from across the corridor. Luckily for him, Viktor made an unsurprisingly good silent intimidator. Hermione had also tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't even look at her, his lips never parting, before brushing past her like she hadn't been there at all. Hermione had sided with the boy she fancied, no matter how much her heart told her her other best friend had needed the support more. She had made her choice. Harry simply no longer had any words for her, or any other Hogwarts student save Cedric. He had made that abundantly clear in the month or so since the drawing of the names, which was why it was such a shock that he was deigning to acknowledge odd little Luna Lovegood.

Luna cocked her head to the side, strangely birdlike. "You want…me…to join you?" she asked. "You wouldn't mind Loony Lovegood?"

Harry blinked in astonishment and turned to the others. "Who's that?"

Cedric answered for her, huffing in annoyance. "Those bloody Ravenclaws. They haven't taken too kindly to Luna's, er, interests-"

"It's okay, Cedric," she said breezily, "they're quite aware of their status as an endangered species."

"Er, as I said, Luna's interests. They think she's mad," Cedric concluded testily. "She's just eccentric and imaginative! There's nothing wrong with that. Or there is, according to the Ravenclaws." He made a face that said very clearly what he thought of that.

Harry bit his lip. Viktor could practically see the cogs turning in the boy's head, and hid a sigh. Just two days ago he had gazed tearfully up into the half-giant gamekeeper's eyes, his lip bitten to shreds as he tried to express himself wordlessly to his first wizarding friend. The half-giant – Hagrid, Viktor recalled – had just swept the boy into a bone-crushing hug, gruffly telling him that it was alright, and that he understood, while discreetly wiping tears from his own beetle-black eyes. It just seemed that no matter where he went, Harry picked up strays like a frond of catnip with kneazles. First the dogfather, and then the half-giant, and now this radish girl-

So he just smiled indulgently and ruffled the mop of already tousled hair. Fleur scowled at him for destroying her handiwork. Harry glanced at Viktor for reassurance, and at the older boy's nod, he smiled again at Luna, and spoke to his first Hogwarts student (Cedric didn't count) in over a month. "You're Luna, right? I'm Harry. Why don't you join us?"

The slip of a girl blinked carefully, a couple of times, and then began to smile beatifically. She really was quite pretty, if one overlooked her necklace of butterbeer caps and radish earrings.

"I'd love to," she said simply, and sat herself next to Fleur, where Viktor was internally amused to note their physical similarities. They were both extraordinarily pale with long, white-blond hair and slim, girlish figures, although Fleur was obviously the more buxom of the two. Judging by Cedric's awkward cough, Viktor would say the younger boy had spotted the similarities as well. He caught his eye, and they both turned away to hide a smile.

"What were you talking about?" Luna asked, sweeping out her robes over her thighs as she settled into a lotus position.

"The First Task," Harry said.

"The basilisk from fourth year," Cedric threw in glumly. Harry started at this, but then realised Cedric was in his fourth year when that happened.

Luna's eyes brightened at the mention of that. "Yes, but the Sparkling Stick-Nargle saved us from it, right?"

Harry goggled at her and pointed at himself in shock. "I'm a Sparkling Stick-Nargle?"

At Luna's emphatic nod, the three older Champions each threw their heads back and roared with laughter.

"Why don't we go on an excursion and see what's happened to it?" Luna asked.

Cedric tried to choke off his giggles. "Bu-but we don't know where it is-" he caught sight of Harry's suddenly white face. "Harry?" he asked.

"It's in the Chamber of Secrets," the younger boy whispered.

Fleur marvelled. "It was said to be just a myth!"

"Salazar Slyderin's Chamber of Secrets?" Viktor confirmed. The boy hesitated, and then nodded. "Vat did you see down dere?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he whispered. "Just chambers and caves."

"Slyderin was said to have hidden avay de pride and joy of Rowena Ravenclaw's library collection in his Chamber," Viktor revealed.

All five children stared at each other, not quite willing to think about what that would mean for them.

"Alright," Harry resolved, swallowing hard, "excursion it is."

"Who's there?"

"Myrtle?" Harry poked his head into her cubicle. The moping ghost immediately lit up.

"Ooh, Harry! Have you come to visit me? It's been very lonely here in my toilet since you left," she confessed shyly, a silvery blush spreading on her cheeks.

Harry felt his own cheeks heat up when he heard the sniggers behind him turn into hastily covered coughs. He whirled around and glared at the other four teenagers, but was met with expressions of utmost innocence.

"Myrtle, I need to go down to the Chamber again and find something. But if I do manage to find it, I'll be coming here a lot more frequently," he tried to compromise.

The teenaged ghost beamed at him. "Thank you Harry!" She zipped up into the air and plunged into the toilet bowl in her excitement. Harry waited for a couple of moments before deciding that she really had left, and sagged in relief. Cedric's sniggers picked up again.

"Will the Boy-Who-Lived get the Girl-Who-Died?" he teased. The other three erupted in gales of laughter while Harry just glared flatly at him, his cheeks still pink, more embarrassed than angry.

"Are you done yet?" he asked flatly. But his words just sparked off another round, and Harry sighed, before walking to the cistern at the end of the bend. Viktor, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his chuckles, followed him. "Vat are you looking for?" he asked.

Harry pointed at the tooled snakes on the taps. "I saw these the last time I was here. Now that I'm not trying to save someone on the brink of death, I can see they've got snakes carved all over the bathroom." He pointed at the balustrade. Even the door handles, the cisterns, and the plungers, were all skilfully wrought stone snakes.

"Did you ever find out vhy Slyderin vould vant to put de entrance to his Chamber in a girl's bathroom?" Viktor asked curiously.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Maybe he wasn't as manly as everyone thought he was." He bent down to put his head level with the snake on the tap, and stared long and hard into its agate eyes. Then, he could have sworn it winked.

_"Open," _he whispered.

A soft, slithering reply slurred through the bathroom, so quiet that he wasn't surprised he'd missed it the last time, with Ron and Lockhart having provided the soundtrack. _"Assss the massster wishesss."_

The basin moved aside, the millennia-old stone gears groaning in protest. The tension in the bathroom was palpable. Gulping audibly, Harry waved his hand at the slide and bowed in a theatrical manner. "Ladies and gentlemen," he rasped, "I give you the Chamber of Secrets."

Cedric was the first one to step forward. He tapped the slide once and cast a lighting charm. "They use those to light Quidditch pitches at night," he explained. Now they could see their way down the slimy tube. Harry peered all the way through. It didn't look like anything had changed in the past two years.

After a hastily cast 'Scourgify' they were ready to head down.

"I'll go down first," Harry said calmly. Over the wave of protests, he said, "It's better that I do, in case there're any snakes left. I'm the only one that can speak to them."

Reluctantly they let him down the slide first. He was a lot more prepared this time round, plus he could see where he was going, so he was able to land on his feet. Harry glanced about him in the huge cavern. It was still pretty dark- getting an idea, he walked over to the wall and cast a 'Lumos' on it. The dome-shaped cavern immediately lit up, and he was confronted by that same blockade of stones that had once prevented Ron from following him to face the basilisk. A quick swish-and-flick and 'Evanesco' later, the entire cavern was here, and his 'Lumos' spread out throughout the entire wall, fully illuminating the entire sixty-foot carcass of the basilisk. Harry shuddered at its ruined eyes. Surprisingly enough, its carcass hadn't begun to rot over the past couple of years where it had lain untouched in the dank sewer. Thankfully, it didn't smell either.

He walked over to the middle of the great cave and stared down at the pool of ink and blood on the floor. It would never come out now. He hadn't thought he'd be leaving his mark on Hogwarts this way. He'd always thought initials and hearts carved into a window sill, a plaque in the trophy room, marks scratched into the astronomy tower-

"Harry?" he heard Viktor call, distracting him from his thoughts.

"It's safe!" he called back up, and heard the first of the others clamber into the tube and slide down. It was Viktor, looking resplendent in his official robes. He brushed some dust off the sleeves, looked up at the basilisk and then immediately stilled. Fleur was the next one down, and because Viktor hadn't moved, she landed right on top of him. For a moment the cavern rang with her indignant shouts, but then she caught sight of the enormous carcass, and quieted immediately.

Luna was the next one down, and she landed neatly on her bum on top of Fleur. The Veela didn't even notice; she was still too horrified by the sight before her. Luna hopped to her feet and linked arms with Harry and whispered conspiratorially, "Do you think Veela allure works on basilisks too?"

The horrified look Fleur immediately sent Luna's way had the two younger ones doubled over in laughter. She and Viktor stared at them in shock, and then slowly, they, too, began to laugh, clambering off each other and to their feet.

"Hey, guys?" Cedric called, the only one left upstairs. "Is everything okay?"

"Just peachy!" Luna called back breezily, causing them all to laugh again. Cedric slid down and landed easily on his feet, an easy smile on his lips. "Okay, what's so funny-"

Like the two Champions before him, he froze at the sight. When he managed to find his voice again, it was quiet and hushed. "You fought and killed this."

It wasn't a question.

Harry nodded, unsure of where Cedric was going with this.

"When you were twelve?"

Again, Harry nodded, looking uncertain.

Cedric turned to Viktor. "Get him out of here," he rasped, voice tight. He had spent the entire day before meeting them in the Room fending of unsubtle queries from Dumbledore and his professors about Harry, not to mention his own schoolmates' expectations of his role as their gossip-in. He'd never been this harassed in his life, even when he'd come of age and received his prefect's badge, and, rather guiltily now, had wondered if this were truly worth all the trouble, if _Harry _was truly worth all this trouble. But this sight, in this moment, absolutely sealed it.

"He never signed up for this; none of us did. You have to get him out of his damn country as fast as you can!"

For a moment all they could do was just to stop and stare in shock at Cedric. Then Viktor nodded firmly, his dark eyes filled with new resolve. "You haff my vord on dis."

Once again, I'm not a Brit-hater, in any way, shape, or form. It's just close-minded people that I have no patience for, and that they're British in this piece is only collateral. I know that in canon Fleur is only a quarter-Veela, but she's pretty much full-blooded here. Cheers.

And I've finally gotten off my arse and changed the time in chapter 2. My mistake, that Bulgarian time is two hours ahead of GMT. Thanks so much for the correction, David305 (o:


	6. Chapter 6

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

_Right before the First Task_

The international press completely flooded the Hogwarts stadium for the First Task. Although in previous tournaments, the participants had worked together to form a sort of competitive camaraderie, nothing of this magnitude had ever occurred. No Champion was ever seen alone without the company of a fellow Champion, and all of them banded around to protect the youngest ever Triwizard Champion.

Also, in attendance, in _public_, for the very first time since the dismissal of all charges against his person by the International Court of Wizarding Justice, above and beyond Dumbledore's insubstantial protests— was said youngest Champion's godfather and legal guardian, Sirius Orion Black. No self-respecting reporter was going to let a chance like this just pass them by.

In the Great Hall, the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students ate together amicably at every meal, forming an impenetrable phalanx of international elite about young Harry Potter. Cedric Diggory was the only Hogwarts student welcomed at the table, although gradually Luna Lovegood became an integral part of the Triwizard quartet. Although Dumbledore had tried to protest Luna's presence, claiming that if one Hogwarts student could speak to Harry Potter without breaking international treaty, so could another; and if the Hogwarts students could, so could he by extension as part of the Hogwarts staff, but Viktor coldly rebuffed him with the words:

"Haff you ever seen Luffgood speak vith Harry Potter?"

And Dumbledore honestly couldn't say that he had. Luna was more often seen side-by-side the lovely Veela, the presence of two luminous blonds causing people to stop and stare more often than not.

Luna was flourishing, too, in their company. When a Ravenclaw in her year tried to harass her in the corridors, the girl suddenly found herself held at wandpoint by a very irate Veela Champion. Even Flitwick, who'd been a witness, couldn't deny that Fleur was in the right. Perhaps what was worst of all was that Flitwick had never before even noticed the abuse heaped onto the tiny blond.

Dumbledore suspected that Luna was closer to Harry even than she was to Fleur Delacour, but he couldn't find a shred of proof.

But to return to the First Task. The international press had been eating Britain alive for the past month for allowing such a travesty as the election of a minor to the Triwizard Tournament to occur, let alone continue. They greedily lapped up each subsequent faux pas: the declaration of political asylum, the continued attempts by the British to privately contact Harry Potter, the dismissal of all charges against Sirius Black. And now they couldn't wait to see just how much deeper of a hole the British would dig themselves into.

Ludo Bagman entered the Champions tent nervously. The four teenagers were lounging together on couches and pillows in the corner of the tent pitched against the wall of the stadium, in a perfect vantage point to see who would enter. They were all casually holding their wands in their dominant hands. Bagman began sweating buckets the moment the flap closed behind him.

"Ah, gentlemen and lady! If you would please insert your hands into this velvet bag, you will draw out the creature you will face, and the tag attached to it will tell you which turn you will go." He held the bag to Fleur first with a wilting smile.

"Ladies first?"

Fleur frostily stretched out her hand. She never once broke eye contact with Bagman. His robes were starting to stick to his paunch, slick with sweat. "Rather humid in here, eh?" he chuckled nervously.

She drew out a Chinese Fireball dragon. Around its neck there was a tag that read '#2'.

"Mr. Diggory?"

Cedric was plain and straightforward. He shoved his hand in, rooted around a bit, and pulled out a Welsh Green. There was a '#3' about its neck.

"Mr. Krum!"

Viktor glowered at Bagman, and the poor man was beginning to develop a nervous tic above his right eye. He snatched the first thing his fingers brushed. A Swedish Short-Snout snarled lazily at him, its winding tail lashing. A '#1' tag hung around its neck.

"That means our youngest Champion will go last!" Bagman crowed anxiously. "Mr. Potter-"

He held out the bag to Harry, but before he could reach the boy, Viktor's arm shot out like a bar across his chest, preventing him access to the youngest Champion.

"As international delegate for Bulgaria, all dealings vith Harry Potter vill be through me."

Bagman blustered. "This is a Triwizard matter! It's part of an international tournament! As part of the council of wizards heading this project I have every right-"

"You lost your right when you allowed an underage boy to compete and let your press slander 'is name," Fleur spoke up testily. "If you would like 'arry to compete, you will let Viktorr draw 'is challenge for him. Ozzerwise, step aside."

Bagman fumed. He'd never been given such a dressing down since before he'd joined the Wasps. But these four teenagers clearly knew their international law, and he couldn't stand in their way. He shot a glare at the boy, but it was entirely lost on him, since Harry was looking idly past to the stands outside. Bagman also snuck a glance at Cedric Diggory – he knew Amos, and surely the man couldn't approve of the tomfoolery his son was engaging in – but Cedric was studying his nails. Bagman hid a snort of disgust and turned away.

Viktor plunged his hand into the velvet bag for the second time and retrieved the last challenge. It was a hissing Hungarian Horntail, with a '#4' hanging about his neck. At once, the faces of the three older Champions shuttered close. Harry reached out and gently pried Viktor's hands from the Horntail model before he impaled himself on one of its tail spikes.

Bagman quickly retreated from the tent before the Bulgarian's wrath was unleashed.

He met Dumbledore a ways from the tent, en route to the announcer's cabin. He was still mopping the sweat from his brow with a large spotted handkerchief.

"You should've never let the boy compete," he snapped at his old mentor, "Britain will never live this down. _I'll _never live this down!"

"Which dragon is young Harry facing?" Dumbledore asked calmly, choosing to ignore Bagman's vitriol. He was also trying to ignore the presence of a recovered Sirius Black decked out in the official Black house robes, sitting in the stands chatting amiably with all manner of reporters, one of them the father to one of his student's and the owner of the wizarding tabloid, The Quibbler.

"The Horntail," he spat. He smiled thinly with triumph when Dumbledore lost his twinkle for a moment there. "Perhaps this will teach you to stop playing with people's lives!"

* * *

Sorry kiddies, I didn't quite mean to leave you hanging (o: But the next one, I promise, will be the genuine First Task.

Just a note though, since I've never really gotten this many reviews on a fic before, in order to celebrate that, I'd like to offer a story for my 200th reviewer, if you'd like it. It could be any pairing of your choice, het or other, but out of sheer principle I won't write Harry with Draco, Ron, Ginny, or Snape. Everyone else is fair game though, and i t doesn't have to be Harry-centric either (o: It may end up as a oneshot or a chaptered fic, for which I'll have to ask for your patience till I complete it (o: Cheers, guys.


	7. Chapter 7

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

Thanks for being so patient guys (o:

And congratulations to Dreamers0rule0the0earth for being the 200th reviewer! The requested pairing will be Harry/Blaise with a Slytherin!Harry, and they will be featured in a chaptered piece.

* * *

_The First Task_

Viktor was the first up. He entered the stadium stonily, his wand a constant presence by his side. He stalked forward, not bothering to hide behind the rocks in the arena. The Swedish Short-Snout watched him with narrowed eyes, a snarl growing deep within her throat.

When he was about fifteen feet away, he slowly drew to a halt. Despite the sizeable distance, theer was no doubt about the Short-Snout's ability to cross that distance in the blink of an eye. Then he bowed low, to the waist, carefully keeping his eyes on the floor. The stadium tittered with people just wondering if the world's leading Quidditch star was insane. To leave himself so vulnerable to attack from a dragon-

The Swedish Short-Snout drew herself up, and let out a fearsome roar. She blew out an enormous jet of flame into the air, far above Viktor's head. Breathing hard, he dropped to one knee before her, and held out his wand: 10-and-a-quarter inches, hornbeam, with a core made from the heartstring of an expired, but particularly vicious Antipodean Opaleye. He glanced up, made sure the Short-Snout was watching, before carefully laying it on the ground. You could practically hear the jaws drop around the stadium. Then Viktor stood, and took a couple of steps back, leaving his wand to the Short-Snout's mercy.

She stalked forward, oddly sleek for a creature of her size. Flaring her enormous silver-blue wings aggressively, she hooked one of her claws over the fragile piece of wood. For a creation Ollivander decreed "rather rigid" and "thicker than normal", it looked painfully vulnerable in the Short-Snout's grasp.

Viktor drew his hand across his chest and bowed again.

_"Great Lady, I mean no harm," _he pledged in his native tongue. _"My task is merely to retrieve the golden egg from among your hatchlings. I solemnly swear I will do no harm to your young." _

The Short-Snout let out a great hiss, and, to the surprise of many, began to speak in a rather archaic form of Bulgarian. One long-forgotten characteristic of all dragons was their ability to speak in all the Ancient tongues, except for Latin and English. Slytherin, who had formed a great kinship with the drakes, had always speculated as to why this was so, but had come no closer to the answer even at the end of his life. However, his entries did detail the old rituals of respectfully approaching a dragon, something the four Champions were going to shamelessly take advantage of.

_"You know the old wayssss, youngling. Very well, we will permit you thisss. However, touch one of our young…" _She ended in a sharp hiss that needed no translation. Viktor just bowed lower, and then slowly walked to the Short-Snout. He manoeuvred his way under her belly, all the while very aware of her keen eyes tracking his every move. When he reached the clutch of eggs by her enormous hind claws, he took a deep, shuddering breath. He stretched out his hands and plucked the golden egg from the rest of the stone-grey hatchlings. The Bulgarian waited for a moment, and when no retribution befell him, he quickly retraced his steps back to where he had first spoken to the dragon.

_"Your word was true." _Was it Viktor's imagination, or did she actually sound amused? Viktor thought it better not to comment. She raised the tip of her hooked claw from his wand, and he heaved out a large sigh of relief. Then a thought occurred to him.

_"Lady!"_

The Short-Snout, about to return to her eggs, turned her head briefly.

Viktor bowed again. _"Might I have the honour of knowing your name?" _

She let out a fearsome roar, and a bellow of flame into the sky. The stands were shrieking, thinking Viktor had reached the end of his odd rope of luck. But Viktor knew better. She was laughing. The dragon was _laughing._

_"Impertinent fleshling!" _She reared up, wings flaring as the light hit her wings in a myriad of colours and blinding anyone that dared look upon her, trumpeted by terrified screams. She settled back down, holding her wings out to keep her balance. _"You may call me Emiliya."_

Viktor let out a choked laugh of his own. _"Rival, indeed. My Lady, I have been well-met." _He shifted forward to swipe his wand. Stealing a glance at the Swedish Short-Snout caused him to nearly do a double-take. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn she was preening.

With his wand firmly clenched in his hand, and the golden egg secured under his arm, Viktor strode out of the arena unscathed.

* * *

Despite the fact that the judges had no idea what in Merlin had just happened, they had to admit that Viktor had near-perfect technique. His time was a mere 6 minute and 13 seconds. Although he hadn't battled the Swedish Short-Snout, the task's goal was to retrieve the egg, and not fight dragon fangs and dragon breath.

Dumbledore awarded him 9 points; Crouch awarded him 9 points; Madame Maxime awarded him 10 points; Bagman awarded him 9 points; and Karkaroff awarded him 10 points. Altogether that gave him a near perfect score of 47.

Following him was the elusive Veela, and speculation ran high about what mysterious Veela technique she would use to get past the Chinese Fireball. The crowd had already written Viktor's technique off as some obscure Bulgarian mumbo-jumbo, seeing as how he'd only spoken in his native language. The judges, of course, knew it had to be more than that, but any attempts at prying information, let alone details, out of him was warded off by the infamous Krum silence. He spared a faint smirk for only Madame Maxime; he knew Fleur would have told the giantess what their strategy was today.

Fleur Delacour sashayed into the arena. While Viktor had been wearing his official Bulgarian robes, as would Harry, she was wearing a silvery robe that shimmered ethereally. She, too, walked fearlessly up to the Chinese Fireball. The Chinese Fireball was much more temperamental and aggressive than the Swedish Short-Snout, and by the time she had reached the fifteen feet mark, the Fireball was already snorting fire and lashing its tail about. Fleur was starting to shimmer almost uncontrollably, and speculation reached a fever-pitch. But Viktor knew that bright light and flame were two things that endeared to Chinese Fireballs, and Fleur was using her glow to soothe the creature somewhat.

What happened next was something no one could have predicted. She, too, lay her wand down at the Fireball's feet, all 9-and-a-half inches of Rosewood and Veela hair core, and curtsied delicately. She, too, began speaking to it in Old French. The crowd gaped as she went through the exact motions as Viktor had less than ten minutes earlier. She, too, finished her task with aplomb less than 6-and-a-half minutes later.

The crowd turned questioningly to the judges. Were they going to mark Fleur down because she had used the same technique as Viktor? Dumbledore awarded her 8 points; Crouch awarded her 8 points; a tickled Madame Maxime awarded her favourite student awarded her 10 points; Bagman awarded her 8 points; and Karkaroff awarded her 6 points.

There was audible grumbling from the foreign sector, while the reporters were hurriedly jotting notes down. The English judges were clearly following Dumbledore's lead on this, while Madame Maxime was remaining impartial; Karkaroff, however, was plainly biased.

Cedric Diggory emerged next to loud English cheers. His broad, sunny face was open and smiling. Up in the stands, his father Amos had joined Sirius Black, greeting the other man amicably. Fleur's parents, two impossibly stunning French persons, were in the stands as well. Viktor's parents were absent, but that was hardly surprising, given their political status.

Cedric followed the exact routine the previous two Champions had, choosing to face his Welsh Green with Old Welsh. The grumbling in the stands grew louder. More so than ever it was obvious that the Champions didn't trust any of the judges– rightly so– to be impartial in this.

As Dumbledore had already marked Fleur down for unoriginality, he could hardly go back and award his own student the 9 points he had awarded Viktor. So he continued with his depreciation in points; Crouch and Bagman both gave Cedric 7 points as well; Madame Maxime still awarded him 10 points, and Karkaroff just randomly assigned him 6 points. All of them, except the giantess, were going to be fodder for tomorrow's papers.

When Harry Potter entered the stadium, the crowd almost imperceptibly leaned forward. They were curious as to whether the youngest Champion would follow in the footsteps' of the other three, and if he would, which language he would choose. Either Italian, Spanish, or German would be fitting, since French and Welsh had already been used. Maybe Gaelic, then. What they didn't know was that Harry had never been taught a foreign language in his life, and there was a chance that he wouldn't succeed speaking another human language, especially when facing the Hungarian Horntail, by far the most vicious of the beasts brought out today.

Harry knew the Hungarian was probably the most dangerous dragon in the world. The Room of Requirement had been most obliging and provided several books on dragons, all of them had unequivocally labelling the Hungarian as the dragon an experienced hunter would least like to face at any given time, and was better of not facing at all during nesting season. Any advice to would-be dragon tamers in dealing with Hungarian Horntails was summed up in one word: Don't.

Unfortunately, Slytherin had no notes concerning the Hungarian either. Whether that meant he had never encountered it, or had deemed it too dangerous to approach, Harry never knew. Either way, he knew he'd still have to take drastic measures when following the ritual.

He stopped a good thirty feet away, and even then the Hungarian was already screeching at him. He knew it wouldn't stop the Horntail; she could cover that distance and more in one beat of her darker-than-night wings. He dropped to one knee, presenting his holly-and-phoenix-feather wand above his head. The Hungarian paused in her fury and looked down at him, slightly curious. Then Harry gripped both ends of the wand and snapped it in half, and tossed the ends to the Hungarian. She let out a snort of flame that immediately incinerated both halves, and a faint ghost of phoenix song warbled in the stadium as the ashes of his phoenix feather core dissipated entirely.

_"Lady…" _he hissed.

The crowd was beyond shocked. Dumbledore had nearly fainted at his last stunt, and now the Parseltongue just about did him in. Poppy was rapidly casting charm after charm on him in a rush to make sure he didn't suffer a heart attack.

Although they had all known Harry Potter was a Parselmouth, most had never heard the language, never seen such an open display of this ability. Harry Potter was openly announcing to the wizarding world that he was a Parselmouth, and unafraid of that fact. But by using his gift, despite the stigma connected to it, he was also signifying his willingness to do absolutely _anything _to survive this damn tournament. The foreign reporters were almost chuckling with glee. And who had forced the famous Boy-Who-Lived into such a corner? Who else but the adults who had subjected him to such a task?

The Horntail froze. She crouched closer, glaring at the tiny flesh-coloured creature in front of her. _"Speak again," _she demanded.

Harry glanced up through his fringe. _"Lady," _he began again in Parseltongue, but he didn't get much further when she cut him off.

_"You speak the Snake's tongue. Only one other of you fleshlings has ever spoken it, and I have only heard it as a hatchling. That fleshling protected my mother…"_

Harry nearly fainted. Slytherin never wrote anything on the Hungarian Horntails because he'd been _cushy_ with them?

_"Lady, I meant no disrespect," _he tried again, when the Horntail cut him off.

_"Stand!" _she ordered with a roar. _"I will NOT see one of his own grovel like this!"_

Shakily, Harry clambered back to his feet. _"Lady, you honour me. I think I know of the wizard you speak-"_

_ "Is he still here?" _she asked eagerly, nearly disembowelling him with the spikes on her face as she leant close. Harry ignored the screams and hopped nimbly back a couple of feet. _"My apologies," _she mumbled, but her attention was clearly elsewhere. _"Is that fleshling still here?"_

Harry shook his head. _"I'm sorry, my Lady, but he died a long time ago."_

She sighed regretfully, and Harry had to dodge the blast of flame that accompanied it. _"Yes, I had forgotten time moved differently for you fleshlings." _She shook her head to clear her thoughts. _"What is it you wish of me?"_

_ "Of you? Nothing, great Lady. I was merely assigned a task. This is a competition I was entered in, and I need to retrieve the golden egg in your nest."_

She roared up to her full height, blasting a fearsome stream of fire nearly a hundred feet into the air. _"They dare infest my nest?" _She turned furious eyes back on the clutch of eggs. _"Which one is it?" s_he demanded. _"I will blast the imposter into ash!"_

Harry had a feeling…_"My Lady, how did you come to be here?"_

She let out a long, furious hiss, and turned around to glare at the stands full of fleshlings. _"I was taken from my home! Away from my mate!" _She released a pain-filled howl that shook the very foundations of the stadium.

Harry narrowed his eyes in anger. _"I truly am sorry for that," _he told her honestly. _"As someone who's never really had a say in anything, I sincerely apologise for the injustice done to you."_

_ "Can you release me?" _she asked eagerly, once again nearly goring him with her horns. _"That chain-"_

Harry shook his head sorrowfully. _"If I hadn't snapped my wand– that piece of wood– I might have been able to, but now-"_

The Horntail looked as if her brow were furrowed. _"The other fleshling, the older one- he would hiss at things to make them do as he wished. Perhaps if you try the same-"_

Shrugging, Harry pointed at the chain holding the Hungarian Horntail in place and hissed, _"Disappear!" _The chain vanished, and the Horntail let out a screech of triumph as the screams in the stands increased tenfold. Her wings snapped open to either side of her at full-length, stretching the entire length of the seventy-foot arena.

_"Freedom!" _she shrieked. _"And now my young-"_

Phoenix song erupted in the arena as Fawkes appeared in a burst of flame. The bird nipped lightly out of the Horntail's way, and then settled onto Harry's shoulder. He idly brushed the bird's scarlet plumage, the remnants of his song making him smile. "Fawkes," he greeted the phoenix. "Are you here to lend a hand again?"

Fawkes gave a whistle and an agreeing set of chirrups. Harry turned back to the Horntail. _"Lady," _he said, _"I think Fawkes can help you with your nest." _Fawkes chirped in his ear and waved one of his wings in the direction of the eggs. _"Oh, but first I think I have to retrieve that egg."_

_ "Go, fledgling," _she said, settling back down on her hind legs, her huge black wings blanketing the autumn sky.

Harry made his way over to the clutch of eggs and picked the golden one out. Fawkes gave a whistle and fluttered down to settle on top of the brood. Then they all burst into flame and reappeared atop the Horntail's back. Harry watched with wide eyes as Fawkes casually helped secure each one of the eggs into a pocket between the Horntail's scales.

_"What name do you bear, great Lady?" _he asked curiously, once Fawkes fluttered back and landed on his shoulder.

She spread her wings and crouched in a take-off position.

_"Csilla," _she said, _"He called me Csilla."_

Harry smiled as she soared into the air and disappeared into the horizon.

* * *

"You lost us a dragon, boy!" One of the dragon handlers roared when Harry slipped out of the stadium. He would have been immediately trampled if Viktor hadn't intervened.

"You vill leave him alone," Viktor snarled, his wand raised.

Fleur was right beside him, and immediately pulled Harry aside. _"Are you alright? You spoke to her much longer than the rest of us did," _she whispered, petting his wild locks.

Harry was irate over the dragon handler's behaviour. His eyes darted over to the crowd watching them and then he blurted out in French, _"They took her from her mate! They took her from Hungary and dragged her here with her eggs-"_

"'E DID WHAT?" Fleur exploded. Everyone just _stopped _for a moment as the French Veela nearly burst into flames. She rounded into the dragon handler, but not before leaving Harry in Viktor's capable arms.

"You dare," she hissed, "take a wild nesting mozzer away from 'er MATE?" She veritably screeched the last word, and everyone in the near vicinity had overheard. Which, of course, included the reporters.

"How'd you know that?" One of the other handlers blurted out, before slapping a hand over his mouth. Dragons were an endangered species, and the Tournament had allowed the use of nesting mothers only if they were the tamer ones from the Romanian reserve. But to hear that one of them had to be _kidnapped _from the _wild-_

Viktor didn't have any illusions about how this would end. The rights of any magical race that wasn't human were disregarded almost as soon as the issue was raised. And dragons were only an endangered species as long as their existence wasn't a burden to the Ministry. After exchanging a glance with Cedric, he knew he wasn't the only one who was aware of this. Harry didn't need to hear this. Viktor turned to about to shield the boy, but he was already looking bitterly toward the lake.

"I don't want to hear this," Harry insisted, his eyes directed stonily away.

Viktor sighed heavily and wrapped an arm protectively about him, and they left the stands in chaos together.

* * *

I hope it was worth the wait (o: The dragon Viktor's wand core came from was of my invention, because there is no mention of it in canon.

I know a lot of you were concerned with the time lag between Cedric's leaving the tent and then Harry's, and none of that is shown here. Dumbledore himself couldn't have gone, because he'd have to have been in the public eye the entire time 'judging'. As to why he simply doesn't capture Harry by proxy- this fic really isn't about that. As far as Dumbledore's concerned, Harry's Bulgaria's now. He's pretty much stopped trying at this point, although he continues to hope Harry will 'do the right thing' later on. I hope that clears things up for you guys.

On another note, you'll can expect at least a new chapter every week, usually before the full seven days has passed. We have five more chapters and a tentative epilogue that I'm still quibbling over (o: Cheers.

* * *

Names

Emiliya – Bulgarian for 'rival'

Csilla – possibly derived from the Hungarian word 'csillaga', meaning 'star'


	8. Chapter 8

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

_After the First Task_

"Padfoot! Put me down!"

"Not a chance in hell!" Sirius let out his barking laugh as his godson dangled a foot in the air, supported only by broad hands under his armpits. Despite Sirius having been on the run for over a year and still being fairly weak, the fact that he was still able to toss Harry around like he wished was altogether too telling. He abruptly clutched the boy to him.

"Don't ever grow up, alright, Harry?" he whispered desperately into the wild black mop. Harry looked up at him, bemused.

"Finally got bored with your play-toy?" he teased.

Sirius barked out another laugh and tossed the boy into the air again. Harry shrieked at him.

"Never!" Sirius cried, while inside, his heart was breaking.

* * *

_At the Yule Ball_

McGonagall swooped over them in a remarkably accurate imitation of Snape.

"I expect you have your dates present-" She drew herself up in shock at seeing only 5 teenagers instead of 8.

Cedric wore a magnificent set of dark gold and bronze-coloured robes. On his arm was a luminous Luna Lovegood sheathed in silver. Behind them stood Fleur Delacour and Harry Potter, although Harry looked more as if he were on Fleur's arm than she on his. The Veela looked absolutely stunning in a pale blue dress with mother-of-pearl inlays. Branimir had sent over more robes with the Bulgarian emblem, so for the night Harry had donned a pair of blue robes just a shade off black that fit him like a glove. And behind themstood Viktor Krum, dark and imposing in a jet ensemble, with only the rearing lions of Bulgaria on his chest lending any colour.

"Mr. Krum!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "Where is your partner?"

Viktor almost cursed her for bringing this up. Harry had been especially hard to convince that Viktor didn't need a date, as he was acting as chaperone for him. It was only when Viktor had agreed to dance with Fleur and Luna that the boy had even relented at all. Harry's lack of self-esteem was getting a little tiresome, but then again they had made noticeable progress in the past two months. And now this damn teacher had to go and ruin it all.

"I am acting as international delegate for Harry Potter," he said brusquely. "I am chaperone tonight."

"Regardless of which-"

Viktor shut her up with a flat glare.

Luna stifled a giggle.

And then the double doors opened, and the four Champions and one date entered the Great Hall.

After opening the Yule Ball with Fleur, Harry immediately handed the sparkling Veela to Viktor, a little pale. Attention and dancing really wasn't his thing. He waved off Viktor's concern and turned to smile at some of the Durmstrang retinue that had taken it upon themselves to rescue him. Viktor immediately relaxed when he saw his childhood friend, the Crown Prince of Bulgaria, approach Harry with a grin and a handshake (1). He knew Harry would be safe with him.

Sirius was there as well, and bounded over to interrupt their conversation. The man had held dual French and British citizenship before his arrest, and after he had been cleared of all charges, had immediately dropped his British citizenship and was in the process of applying for Bulgarian. A tall, pale brunet moved at a slightly more sedate pace to stand beside Sirius. Harry smiled up at him in greeting. That was Sirius's old friend, the werewolf…Remus Lupin, was his name?

He twirled Fleur expertly and dipped her low.

"It 'as been a while since we 'ave done this," she remarked.

Viktor nodded. "De Vinter Ball at Beauxbatons last year, maybe?"

She laughed, her laughter breaking upon the eavesdroppers like crystal shards. "Far too long a time," she said as she wheeled out of his grasp.

In the next dance, he and Cedric switched partners, and he was rather amused by the size of his new dance partner. Luna just came up to mid-chest. She and Harry were, frighteningly enough, about the same height. The tiny blond was an excellent dancer though, and her flighty footwork was quite remarkable. Viktor was amused to discover that even he, who had years upon years of lessons and practice and actually dancing at political balls, had trouble keeping up with her. Luna giggled lightly, almost floating in his arms.

"You should dance with him," she said absently. Viktor almost tripped over his robe for the first time in over a decade.

"I beg your pardon?" They were speaking low enough that they wouldn't be overheard.

Luna beamed at him. "You want to, and he wouldn't mind, not if it's you. You make him feel safe. So you should dance with him."

The dance ended at that point, and Luna whirled away to accost Fleur for a dance. The Veela nearly fell over herself laughing, but then she shot Viktor and Harry a devious glance, and agreed immediately. Cedric pretended to pout, but was grinning too hard to really mean it. He invited a girl from Beauxbatons to dance.

Viktor walked slowly over to Harry. Discretely, the other Durmstrang students began to retreat, causing the boy to look up, and smile warmly at this new interloper.

"Viktor," he greeted, and pressed an iced glass into his hand. "Drink up; you must be thirsty."

To his immense surprise, Viktor realised that he was. He drank deeply. It tasted faintly like lemons and was incredibly refreshing.

"How are you enjoying the Ball? You looked as though you were having fun out there on the dance floor," he teased.

"Actually, dat vas vhy I came over here," Viktor said.

"Oh?"

Viktor took a breath. "Vould you like to dance?"

Harry's green eyes widened behind their lenses. He'd have to do something about those Muggle eyeglasses, Viktor thought absently…

"But I can't dance-"

"It vill be fine," Viktor assured him. He held out his hand to him.

Harry glanced up nervously at him, and then bit his lip. He smiled shyly, before placing his own hand on top of Viktor's. "It would be my pleasure, then," he whispered bashfully.

"Look, Remus, look!" Sirius whispered overloud, eyes bright and even pointing at the two of them. Viktor refrained from rolling his eyes incredulously at the lack of decorum from the Black Lord as Harry flushed pale pink. Remus glanced heavenward and elbowed his friend. Unfortunately for him, Sirius seemed to take this as a suggestion and hauled a protesting Remus out onto the dance floor as well. Harry and Viktor followed, laughing.

Harry didn't really start to relax until near the end of their first dance, so Viktor just said, "Try anoder vone." And Harry did. At the end of it he was laughing happily as Viktor twirled him about on the dance floor. Sirius lit up when he heard the soft strains of his godson's laughter. Harry had so little cause to laugh before…

"You old sap," Remus teased, and Sirius reciprocated by tripping him.

Trapped on the dance floor, neither of them saw Moody accost Karkaroff before he could reach Snape. The Russian looked terrified of the grizzly old Auror, and with good reason: there was a sly smile that looked rather out of place on his hacked up cheeks.

Four dances later, Viktor and Harry stepped off the floor, the younger with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. "Viktor, you're really good at that," he said. "It's much easier to do this dancing thing when you aren't the one leading."

The foreigners who'd overheard him hastily muffled their laughter.

_"Viktor," _an old familiar voice called, and Viktor turned at once, a rare smile on his lips.

_"Father," _he greeted the older Krum. A grinning face peeked out behind him. _"And Mother as well! What surprises this day has in store for me."_

_ "Yes, I must agree," _his mother said cheekily, _"After all it is not often I find my son enjoying his time on the dance floor!"_

_ "Yes, love, but that is probably because he did not have the right partner," _his father murmured to her, and Viktor's cheeks heated up.

_"Where is the dear? We must meet him," _his mother gushed to take his mind of things.

Viktor nearly sighed in relief. He guided Harry forward. The boy was blushing, having overheard much of their conversation. He was well on his way to being fluent in Bulgarian, which meant he'd probably understood everything as well.

"Father, Mother, dis is Harry Potter. Harry, dis is my father, Branimir, and my mother, Liliya."

Harry shook their hands. To their surprise, he spoke to them in passable Bulgarian. They had not cast the translation spell this week to see how Harry would handle the transition, and he had taken to it remarkably well. _"Hello. It is very pleased to meet you. I am much in debt."_

While Branimir waved off his thanks, Liliya had to restrain herself from pouncing on him. _"Ooh, he's such a dearheart. Viktor, I want to keep him."_

_ "I have a feeling we will be keeping him, one way or the other," _Branimir muttered, and Viktor wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall. It was only ever with his parents that he was made to feel this childlike and inadequate, but he had never once regretted it. Thankfully, Harry didn't seem to have understood the innuendo, going by the innocently confused look on his face.

Liliya smiled and took his arm. _"Come, let us leave these stuffy old men. You must dance with me. And don't worry,"_ she overrode his concerns, _"I can lead if you are not entirely comfortable with it." _Almost at once Harry looked more at ease. He gave her a tremulous smile. Liliya seemed to ignore that one of those 'stuffy old men' was actually her son and led Harry onto the dance floor. Several of the students gave the odd couple strange looks.

_"He seems like a good child,"_ Branimir remarked almost casually to his son.

Viktor nodded. _"He only ever asked to be a normal child. I do not think he was ever given the chance…except now.""_

Branimir burst out laughing. _"I hardly think it is normal to be a political refugee in your own country!" _He exclaimed. _"Not to mention dancing with a Veela, a Quidditch superstar, and the wife of the Bulgarian Minister of Magic!"_

Viktor smiled. He had to concede that. _"Cedric will probably have his turn as well, if only for laughter's sake," _he said, nodding over to where Luna and Fleur's heads were bent together and looking between Cedric and Harry. But it was Harry that inevitably drew his attention back to the dance floor. Liliya handled him marvellously, and Harry was much calmer with being guided. She had even managed to make him laugh a couple of times. Then he looked piercingly at his father. _"Father, I must ask, what brings you here? You would normally never attend an occasion like this, not that I am not glad for your presence-"_

_ "But you are right," _Branimir conceded. _"We would never have come otherwise, if this situation had not arisen. Too many things are at stake."_

Fear gripped Viktor's throat. _"What do you mean?"_

_ "We are sorry to interrupt this festive night. We can see it has gone some way in healing the wounds from ages past." _Branimir allowed a chuckle past his lips as Liliya led Harry over to Cedric and presented him with the younger boy. Harry looked nonplussed, but took Cedric's arm anyway. Then he was too busy laughing to care about how odd they looked. Fleur and Luna danced beside them, keeping a running commentary that had them gasping for breath.

Liliya returned to her husband and son. _"Have you told him?" _she asked Branimir.

_"Told me what?"_ Viktor's gaze darted from his mother to his father in alarm. He never noticed the worried green eyes that watched him.

Branimir shook his head. _"We came here to talk about Voldemort," _he said quietly. _"We must find some resolution to their fight- we cannot bring this war over to Bulgaria."_

The bottom dropped out of Viktor's stomach.

* * *

Oh fluff, what would we ever do without you.

About the issue with the wand from the previous chapter, as I have mentioned to some of you, this isn't a magic-heavy fic (the irony, yes, I know). Harry snapping his wand wasn't as relevant to him as it was symbolic- of his trust towards the Horntail, the Champions to protect him in his vulnerability, and as a metaphorical two-finger salute to Dumbledore. As for the Priori Incancatatem effect, Harry is still completely ignorant about that. The impact of the wand-snapping will mostly be felt by Dumbledore, who was the only one who knew the 'true' repercussions of Harry having done something like that. And in case you're wondering about Voldemort- here he is (o:

(1) - I don't know if there truly is a Bulgarian royal family, but in this case I just feel it fits. And he comes up again, later, to play a slightly more pivotal role (o: Cheers.

Names

Liliya – Bulgarian cognate for 'Lily'; commonly associated with purity.


	9. Chapter 9

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

_After the Yule Ball_

The three Krums and one Potter were firmly ensconced in Viktor's room aboard the Durmstrang ship. Secrecy and privacy wards had been cast over every inch of the cabin. For Harry's sake, they conversed in English.

"Harry, you might have guessed, but we did not come for a purely recreational reason."

Branimir's English was much better than his son's, although there still was a slight hint of the Bulgarian burr he had grown intimately fond of. Instead of remarking upon anything that banal, the boy simply nodded.

"We need to decide what's going to happen with Voldemort."

At once Harry paled, and then looked down at the hands he had gathered in his lap. It didn't go unnoticed by any of the Krums that they were violently trembling. Viktor knelt beside him, and steadied them with his own large ones. Harry took a deep breath and answered.

"I guess it'd be too much to ask for him to forget about me once I leave."

"You are talking about …past meetings between you?" Liliya asked carefully. Harry merely stiffened, but he did nod.

Branimir took a step closer. Harry looked up at him, but didn't appear alarmed. "Harry, I must ask this. When was the last time you came face-to-face with Voldemort?"

Harry shrugged. "Second-Year? I saw him my first year here though. I didn't see him last year, although I had Dementors and a mass murderer on the grounds to make up for it."

The three Bulgarian were stunned by how blasé the boy was being.

"And how did these meetings end?" Branimir inquired.

"He possessed my Defence Professor my First Year," he said flatly. "I killed him, but the bit of Voldemort fled. In my Second Year, there was another bit of Voldemort stuck in his diary when he was sixteen, like a memory. He controlled a basilisk and went around petrifying students until a couple of friends led me to the Chamber of Secrets and we went down to kill the basilisk. He disappeared when I destroyed the book."

The two men looked aghast, but Liliya's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Merlin. A memory. Oh, Merlin."

Harry was immediately on his feet, concern all over his face as he guided Liliya to the seat he had just vacated. "Are you alright? Do you need a glass of water of something?"

He glanced about him for a tumbler and pitcher. Viktor, after exchanging an inscrutable look with his father over Harry's head, conjured him a glass of water. Harry accepted it gratefully and waited patiently for Liliya's hands to stop shaking before passing the tumbler to her.

"Horcruxes," Liliya rasped out after taking a gulp of water, "he split his soul to make horcruxes."

Branimir didn't dwell upon the issue of 'horcrux' but rather their multiplicity. "Horcruxes? Meaning there are more than one?"

Liliya nodded. "I would expect multiple. That soul fragment you saw in your Defence Professor, Harry, was probably all that was left of the original Voldemort," she explained to Harry. "In your Second Year, that was probably his first horcrux- a splinter of his soul. I'm amazed he made one at that age, but I would doubt his having the capability to make one any younger. Then again, to construct a horcrux at the age of sixteen is a feat…" She drifted off, gazing sightlessly beyond the three males before her.

_"Mother," _Viktor gently called, putting a hand on her shoulder. At once Liliya seemed to snap back to herself, and smiled faintly.

"I apologise for that…lapse," she murmured.

Branimir brushed his wife's cheek with gentle fingers, acknowledging her contribution. "That is grave information indeed, but I do not know how that will help us except to further infuriate him. I do not doubt the information about the horcruxes was meant to be kept a secret."

Harry took a deep breath. "What if we send him an owl?"

The Krums turned as one to stare at him. Harry resolutely wasn't meeting any of their eyes, simply staring out the murky pothole.

"He- Voldemort- he told me once, in the Chamber of Secrets, that we were very similar. At the time, I didn't want to think about just how similar." His hushed confession reached every niche in the room. "He said he'd give me a chance then."

A cough racked the cabin as he shifted uncomfortably. In an odd twist, Liliya ended up passing him her tumbler of water, and he smiled gratefully at her.

"If- if we write him an owl, and te-tell him I'll leave and won't ever come back-"

Viktor immediately went to him. "Can you do dat, Harry? Ask yourself, for truth, can you honestly do dat?"

He swallowed harshly. "Luna, and Cedric. I'm worried about them, but-"

Branimir sighed, and Viktor threaded his hand through wild dark hair. "We have been waiting for you to say that," Brainimir confessed quietly. He met shocked green eyes with calm dark ones. "You had to realise for yourself, that leaving them didn't mean abandoning them, not in this case."

"Because they'd already abandoned me first," Harry whispered, his eyes not leaving Branimir's. The man carefully nodded, and Harry's lids slipped shut. He hunkered down against Viktor's side, soaking up all and any comfort the older boy could give.

Once Harry managed to pull himself together, the four of them sat down and began to draft the letter. It began, detailing recent events that outlining their proposition. The very last paragraph read:

_'The moment the Triwizard Tournament is over is the last moment I will ever stand on British soil. I will swear an Unbreakable Vow to never again return to England, or involve myself in their politics in any way, shape or form. Dumbledore remains your only enemy in this, and the international community will lean greatly in your favour. I sincerely hope this is a suitable solution to both parties. And please, _please_ don't kill the owl.'_

"He's going to know that the only line I wrote is the last one," Harry whispered faintly, feeling too dazed to really comprehend how his life was spinning out of control.

Branimir chuckled deeply. "Harry, if he is as good a politician as he seems to be, he won't care who wrote the document, as long as the signature at the end is the correct one. That's the binding contract. You will have to hold true to your statements now if he chooses to accept this." He quickly made several duplicates, and then folded the missive into neat thirds and sealed it with the Bulgarian crest.

"Now, how to get it to wherever he is?"

"Use Hedwig," Harry said firmly. "She can reach anyone through anything."

The snowy owl swept into the room on command and seated herself in Harry's lap. He scratched her in all her favourite spots, fed her an owl treat, and then finally attached the letter to her leg. She soared into the air with a low hoot.

For a moment all four of them stood there, transfixed by the magnitude of their recent actions.

"Now, Harry, we must speak of your accommodations when you reach Bulgaria!" Liliya exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. Her smile was a little strained, given the circumstance, but her sentiments were genuine. "I understand you must want your own place to live, but until you find one, I insist you take up the guest room – or any room – in our home!"

_"Mother!" _Viktor hissed, a faint pink intruding on his cheeks. He did _not _appreciate the insinuation his mother was laving on the poor boy. For Merlin's sake, he was only fourteen and already had too much heaped onto him! He didn't need to question his own sexuality on top of it!

Harry huffed a laugh alongside Branimir at the annoyed expression on Viktor's face, but it was cut off by a sleepy yawn.

"I'm sorry," Harry immediately apologised.

Branimir waved it off. "Do not be. It is we who are at fault for keeping you up so late so needlessly."

"It's hardly needless," Harry replied evenly. "It should be me thanking you for going through all the trouble for me. Once again, if there's anything I could ever do for you, anything at all, you mustn't hesitate to let me know." His green eyes, although slightly veiled by sleepy tears, were round with his sincerity.

Liliya drew Harry into a warm embrace. "I only hope to be seeing you again soon, Harry."

The older Krums took their leave, glancing significantly at their boy to tell them they still wished to talk. Viktor knew they would wait for him in the Conference Room.

Turning his attention back to Harry, Viktor procured his sleeping clothes where they lay draped over an armchair. He handed them to Harry. "Here," he said, "you should change and go to bed first."

"Your father is very nice," Harry said sleepily, "not at all like Fudge." Viktor had to quell a snort at the ridiculousness of that comparison. Harry rather un-self-consciously shed his robes till he was only in his boxers, making sure to hang them in the cupboard before he pulled on his sleep clothes. Viktor carefully stared at the floor planks, and only the planks. "He looks different from the time at the Quidditch World Cup."

Talk about understatement of the century. Anyone who knew Branimir would never mistake him for Obalonsk. "There was a decoy," he said. The boy mused over that quietly, and then crawled into bed.

"And your mother," he continued, but paused. He sighed, a strange look passing over his face. "My mother's name was Lily, too. I really think she would have liked your mum."

Viktor walked over to the younger teen, and gently stroked his face. He leaned over and kissed the scarred brow through its untameable black bangs. "Go to sleep, Harry," he murmured in his rough voice. He was unprepared for the near violence of the boy's embrace. His face was buried into his midriff, thin arms wrapped about a slim, Quidditch-toned waist.

"Goodnight, Viktor," Harry whispered nearly inaudibly. "And thank you all, again."

He pulled shyly back, and then slipped under the covers, falling asleep almost immediately. Viktor watched the steady rise-fall of his chest for several long moments before he remembered himself. Quickly, he cast a proximity offensive-defensive ward on the bed, and then another over the door of the chamber itself before leaving to meet with his parents.

* * *

Liliya was sitting with her legs artfully crossed. _"He is rather young at the moment,"_ she was remarking to Branimir in their mother tongue.

_"Looking at them as they are, however, I do not doubt this affection will carry through the years,"_ his father easily replied. It didn't take an idiot to figure out what they were talking about. Viktor flushed a dull red and strode into the room if only to keep them from discussing this further. His mother smiled at him.

_ "Viktor," _she exclaimed. _"I'm surprised to see you here so soon. I thought you would stay by Harry's side a while longer yet-"_

_ "Mother." _Viktor's voice was deep, but unsteady. Liliya pouted, but obliged her only child. _"I will ask you to refrain from any cavalier references to Harry. He has been flung off all his life. I will not have that happen to him again, especially not from the first people to extend this helping hand."_

Liliya sobered slowly. _"I did not mean it that way. He is so frightened of everything…but I think he could do with your being around him. Not that you will deny him that pleasure, no?" _She winked at him, then regained her solemn expression.

_"I will tease you no longer. I do not think he has ever had a constant, positive presence in his life. Your proximity to him now will give you the opportunity to be that for him."_

Viktor shook his head, tossing his long dark hair. It was very thick and springy, horse-like almost, just long enough for him to tie back the ends in a short ponytail. He always intended to grow it out like his father, but he usually got too irritated by its haphazard length six months in and would cut it off only to begin the ritual all over again.

_"I want him to be able to have a choice. I don't want him to stay with me just because he is looking for familiarity."_

Branimir smiled at his son fondly. _"I think you give yourself and young Potter too little credit." _His smile broadened at the deepening blush on his son's cheeks.

* * *

Harry's eyes were open in the darkness of Viktor's room. It had been easier to trick the older boy into thinking he was asleep; he had pretended to be so many things over so many years, after all, that feigning sleep had come almost thoughtlessly.

Things were moving much faster than he'd thought they would. From the beginning he'd thought this was a long shot, but now that things actually looked like they were beginning to fall into place, he was more terrified than ever about Voldemort's response. He didn't even know if Voldemort had a body to respond with. He wasn't a hero. He'd never, even in his wildest dreams, ever wanted to be one.

After Second-Year…he shuddered. So many things had happened down in that chamber, and none of them bode well for Voldemort's reception of his letter. And of course he feared for his dearest Hedwig's safe return.

Resolutely, he turned his mind to lighter things. He smiled faintly at his memories of the Yule Ball. He'd danced with Sirius, and Remus, and even the Bulgarian Crown Prince had taken his turn. Hagrid had swung him around, and then Madame Maxime had her opportunity to manhandle him about the dance floor. The sight of her headmistress dancing with the pint-sized boy had reduced Fleur to helpless giggles. Unfortunately he hadn't been able to dance with Luna, but the petite blond's mere presence had been enough to brighten his day.

Still, Harry had most enjoyed his time with Viktor. They had danced the last dance together, and the older boy's dark eyes on him made all thoughts of the impending tournament vanish from his mind. There were times Viktor looked at him and seemed to see more than what there actually was, which scared him, to a certain extent, but also warmed his heart like none other had. He didn't know what it meant, but he trusted Viktor, trusted him in everything, with everything.

There was a sound at the door, and he froze, transfixed with fear. Then he heard a familiar voice murmur a spell to undo the wards and charms, and he relaxed. Viktor slipped into the room, taking care not to make a sound. The older boy settled into bed beside him, and Harry turned into his embrace at once, knowing he'd never find a safer place other than Viktor's arms.

* * *

The clock aboard the ship chimed just once when Viktor finally crept into his room. His parents liked to talk politics, and took great care at including his opinions. Usually Viktor enjoyed their discussions, but this time the stress of dealing with the entire tournament, as well as the appeal of what awaited his return, had lured him back to bed early.

The door didn't creak as it swung open.

The only sound reverberating in the stillness of the four walls was Harry's breathing.

In the dark, Viktor stripped out of his clothes and draped them over a chair, taking care not to knock into anything that might wake the boy up. He slipped under the covers alongside him wearing only a thin undershirt and a pair of boxers.

Immediately he was assaulted by a slim warm body, plaint with sleep and deep dreams, that latched onto the additional heat source. Viktor'd discovered that Harry liked blankets upon blankets upon warming charms upon blankets. He absolutely adored to be cocooned in any manner or form. The sudden attack made Viktor close his eyes and pray for patience for nearly half-a-minute, before he was finally able to relax enough and bask in the boy's unconscious embrace. A small nose nudged his sharp jaw, making him smile.

_"Good night," _he murmured in his native tongue.

The boy mumbled something back to that effect, more than half-asleep.

The best thing about Harry's unconscious clinging was waking up in the morning and watching him stir into full consciousness, never once relinquishing his grip.

* * *

Is Viktor taking advantage of him? Sometimes I feel like he is, but then again, he's also trying to be careful with Harry's feelings and not allow his own responses to colour them that much. At this sort of vulnerable stage, Harry'd be willing to do anything at all, be anything, as long as they would allow him to stay. It's a position that Viktor must be conscious Harry's in, and yet resist the willing temptation.

A big thanks to Fanny Horn for enlightening me about Bulgarian accents! I hope it sounds a little more correct this time (o: Cheers.


	10. Chapter 10

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

About the horcruxes, Kisayue mentioned that I said I wouldn't include them in Chapter 5. Thanks, Driorianos, for that ref. I've gone and changed that. But either way, the horcruxes, like Harry's wand, aren't as important to Harry because he doesn't have the full understanding like how Dumbledore would. The Krums recognise how horrible they are, but are careful to keep that reality from Harry. I don't mean to brush them off, but they don't play a huge part in this, especially since they aren't even mentioned in their letter to Voldemort, and I'd like to think my Voldemort has at least some modicum of sense.

* * *

_The Second Task_

"I wonder who they put down there," Harry murmured as Fleur ushered him onto the dock. He had adored all the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students he had met so far, but the ones that he were truly close to were the Champions. The only non-participant he was genuinely fond of was Luna Lovegood. But it was against international policy to have her as the object he would surely miss, if only because he could have no such contact with any English.

Fleur hushed him. _"Don't worry," _she said in French, _"You know our plan. It doesn't matter who's down there."_

He smiled gratefully up at her. He knew she was more worried than she let on. Her hostage would probably be her darling sister, Gabrielle. He wondered if they were allowed to pluck a little twelve-year-old Veela from across the Channel and plunk her underwater in the middle of February, or if that would create another international incident.

Up in the stands, Draco Malfoy settled in the bench above Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. The youngest Weasley male went nearly violet with anger the moment he saw the blond.

"What is it, three years of- friendship, and now- oh my, both of you here in the stands? I guess Potter really wouldn't miss any one of you- but wait, weren't you the ones that turned against him in the first place? Can't hardly blame him now, can you?" The boy's pale face split into a smug smirk.

Ron cracked his knuckles threateningly, but Hermione urgently tugged him down. Draco hadn't come over on his own; flanking him on either side, besides the usual Crabbe and Goyle, was the entire Slytherin Quidditch team: including Beaters Derrick and Bole, Flint, Montague, Warrington, and Bletchley. Theodore Nott stood slightly off to the side, a small smile playing over his lips. Even though he was clearly standing apart from them, it was the first time Nott had openly declared any sort of allegiance to Malfoy. Hermione couldn't help but think this was a sign of something- important, but she didn't quite know of _what_.

Just then Moody hobbled over, brandishing his wand and a terrifying scowl. "Now, break it up, you lot," he snapped, although for some reason he seemed to be directing his words more at Ron than the Slytherins.

Harry spotted the commotion from the grounds, but before he could call anyone's attention to it Bagman had magically magnified his voice again and was counting down to the start of the Second Task.

* * *

Viktor glanced over to where Fleur was cooing over Harry to hide her anxiety. He felt sorry for the witch, and knew she was very attached to her little sister. She carried photographs of Gabrielle everywhere she went, and even Viktor had to admit that the baby sister made an adorable little creature.

Cedric stood solidly behind him, confident in their plan. The honey-blond had more than a clear suspicion of who would be waiting underwater for him. He had lived practically next door to Luna all his life, but had never known her as anything more than the somewhat wacky exterior she presented to everyone.

Sure, he had stopped his Hufflepuffs from pursuing her, but most of them were too kind to have done anything to her anyways. It was the Ravenclaws he should have watched out for, but never had. If this tournament had never occurred, he would have never realised that about her. And within the blinking of an eye, she had become precious to him, a good friend, with the possibility in the future, perhaps, of becoming much, much more.

"So, the plan?" Cedric muttered lowly to the stoic Bulgarian beside him.

Viktor gave no sign that he had heard Cedric say anything. His throat barely moved when he spoke, and his lips were only just parted, perhaps in a sigh. "We follow tru wid it, just like we planned from de start. If Dumbledore is trying to gain an upper hand in dis tournament again-"

Cedric clenched his fists, and his jaw squared fiercely. Before this tournament he'd never thought of the headmaster as the sort of person, but his perspective on that had been brutally changed. He nodded tightly as Bagman cast a _'Sonorus' _on himself, and began to blather on mindlessly to the crowd.

"On your marks…ready…set…GO!"

There was a long, pregnant pause where none of the Champions moved. Irate questions flew around the stands, and Bagman looked frantic. He checked that the Sonorus charm had actually taken hold, and then tried to count down again, in case the Champions hadn't heard it the first time.

"Ready…set…_GO!"_

Still the four teenagers didn't move. Crouch looked peeved. Bagman looked ready to hurl. Dumbledore's face was like a black thundercloud, but Karkaroff's expression was carefully blank, which seemed most out of character for the hot-tempered Russian. Viktor idly wondered if the man had turned up to the event drunk. That would certainly explain things.

Only Madam Maxime was surveying the events with a calm, even amused, eye.

Suddenly three families stormed up to the judge's table in a clear formation, trailed by a dumpy, redheaded matron, and Viktor whispered a _'Sonorus' _charm of his own at them.

"You kidnapped our daughter!" a raging French Veela screeched, the unearthly beauty Amarantha Delacour, barely held back by a handsome dark-haired man who also looked fit to burst himself with anger. Gwenaël Delacour was no Veela, but he was still descended from the Furies, and his entire being sang with the need to see blood spill for vengeance.

Xenophilius Lovegood bore a strong resemblance to his otherworldly daughter, but looked so young one could have mistaken them for siblings rather than parent or child. His apparent youth, however, didn't hide the stormy anger in his sky-blue eyes.

"Rest assured, _Headmaster," _Xeno spat, "that there will be several lawsuits against you for the reckless endangerment and unmitigated kidnapping of minors."

"You would risk _our Ginny _for that showboating Potter!" Molly Weasley snarled. Viktor didn't miss the flinch Harry gave at her harsh words, and pulled the boy against him. Harry nestled gratefully into his side, looking emotionally drained. Molly's words were so loud that they echoed painfully around the stadium, and she was suddenly aware of what she'd just said, and who exactly had heard. She paled so drastically that her hair looked like a bit of lit flame above a white marshmallow.

In the dramatic pause that followed, a handsome brunette woman took measuring steps forward. One look at her made nearly all the reporters present swoon with the scent of a scoop.

Liliya Krum was just as much a political heavyweight as her husband, and in reality, the more ruthless of the two. During the brief skirmishes Bulgaria had faced from Russia and the Ottoman Empire, it had been Liliya leading the Bulgarian national army and riding as Head of her Knights. She was deadly enough with a wand alone, but with a broadsword she was devastatingly brutal.

Her dark blue gaze skewered Crouch and Bagman at one end of the table, and then flickered dismissively away. Karkaroff flinched rather belatedly. She eyed Molly Weasley like a particularly disgusting piece of filth scraped off the bottom of her shoe, causing the matron to shrink into herself eve further. Her words were cold and clipped and in every way threatening.

"What do you think you were doing, _Albus Dumbledore,"_ she spat, "removing the _Crown Prince _of Bulgaria from the Durmstrang ship?"

Lyuben and Viktor had grown up together, seeing as how both their parents had been such high-ranking officials. He was almost a surrogate brother to the Quidditch international superstar, and had fully supported Viktor's latest Save-the-Boy-Who-Lived endeavour.

The stadium was deathly silent. She sneered magnificently at the suddenly pale old man.

"Oh yes, _Dumbledore, _just who did you think Viktor would deign to associate with? He knows our expectations…my son has _very_ discriminatory taste in his acquaintances…"

Here she paused heavily and her eye dropped to Molly Weasley again. The plump woman quailed beneath her eye.

"And giving Harry Potter an English hostage- were you trying to ruin his chances at competing? You of all people should know his status as political refugee forbids him from approaching any of your students, _Supreme Mugwump." _ She was surely mocking him now, in the way that only Liliya Krum could.

"I would return them all now, _unharmed _, if I were you, before anything untoward happens to them. You've just caused another international incident, Albus Dumbledore. I suggest you return our kin immediately and then run and beg your Minister for mercy for bringing Bulgaria and Britain to the brink of war. I have no doubts just who the French will back," she warned, glancing only fleetingly at the distraught French Ambassadors to the Magical Races. Liliya whirled around with a violent flare of her cloak and marched away, flanked by the Delacours and Xeno. If Dumbledore could, he would have buried his head in his hands. His plans were all ruined.

* * *

Names

Amarantha – from the amaranth flower, the Greek 'amarantos', meaning 'unfading'.

Gwenaël - 'blessed' and 'generous', from the Breton 'gwenn' meaning 'white, fair, blessed', and 'hael' meaning 'generous'.

Lyuben – derived from the Slavic element 'lyub' for 'love'.

* * *

For those of you who were wondering, Moody and Malfoy never engaged in the ferret affair. Ew.

If you were unaware of them, the Furies in Greek mythology (also called the Erinýes and the Eumenídes) are bird women whose power originates from before the establishment of the Pantheon. They are known to savagely wreak vengeance upon traitors. As you can see, I clearly adore them (o:

And in a bit of shameless plugging, the Furies will also be intimately involved in the fic that I'll be posting after this, **Old Hearts Remember, **which is a Blaise/Harry piece. Hang in there guys! Just two more chapters and a joint epilogue left.


	11. Chapter 11

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

Just a note guys, I do try to reply every review I get, but I'm sorry if I don't get to the unsigned ones, simply because…I can't. Hopefully the writing will speak for itself that way. Cheers.

* * *

_Before the Third Task_

Nearly everything had been settled, and it was on the eve of the Third Task that the final axe blow came, and sealed Harry's the length of remaining time in England for sure. The Krums had come up again to the Durmstrang ship, and in Viktor's thankfully rather spacious cabin, they entertained not only Amos Diggory and the rest of the Delacour family, but Remus and Sirius, Xeno Lovegood, and his delightful daughter Luna as well. It was a quiet evening for finalising decisions and finding comfort in fresh alliances.

Cedric and Luna were seated off to the side, an exuberant Gabrielle Delacour settled onto the smaller blond's lap. Fleur was furiously engaging Amos and Liliya in a lively debate on Quidditch players with into heritages, while Xeno occasionally interjected with random and usually inappropriate non-sequiturs.

Harry was leaning against Viktor, his eyes half-closed as he hummed almost inaudibly under his breath. Above his head, Remus and Sirius bickered amicably about nothing at all. Beside them, Viktor and Branimir spoke rapidly in Bulgarian about the political situation and their chances for continental stability.

It was ten minutes to eleven when Hedwig soared in through the open window, once again ignoring every magical privacy ward in existence and swooping aside to avoid Viktor's cabinet, banking sharply to land in Harry's lap. She hooted softly at him, butting his rigid palm to get him to pet her.

Slowly his fingers regained their nerve ends, and he gently scritched the ivory down of her crown. She shook herself furiously, feathers heaving in a tired, but content bird-sigh. Harry did everything he could to ignore the bit of parchment tied to her leg, but knew he'd failed when Viktor touched his shoulder.

"Harry," the older boy said, then dissolved into a coughing fit as his voice caught.

He waited for Viktor to recover before looking up, but suddenly saw that every one in the room had converged into his tiny corner. It didn't help to calm his feeling of alarm.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and then released all the pent-up tension eating away at his chest. Sirius dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder, gently massaging the bony joint. Not to say all of it was gone, but he was considerably less terrified than he'd been mere moments ago.

With reluctant hands he untied the letter from Hedwig's talons. He petted her speckled wings, fed her a couple of owl treats he'd hoarded in his pocket. Then he turned the envelope about in his hands, and read his name in the elegantly calligraphed script on the front. He gulped, and broke the seal: Voldemort's skull-and-snake impressed into blood-red wax, threaded through with silver veins.

"Read it," Liliya murmured encouragingly, reaching out to brush his other shoulder. Sirius murmured something similar in his ear, but he just pressed harder against Viktor.

Harry swallowed hard another time, and then began to orate Voldemort's message.

'_Harry Potter,_

_ 'Imagine my surprise when that impertinent snowy owl of yours dared to fly through my window, ignoring every single proximity ward Salazar Slytherin himself had placed upon my manor. It has been an amusing past couple of weeks following your daily biography in the _Daily Prophet _and from my faithful's reports, and those are what have most convinced me of your sincerity in departing this country for good. _

_ 'So you have sought solace in the arms of Bulgaria? Although it pains me to say it, it is a wise choice. I could never get a foothold in that country; the people there are too damn patriotic. If you have truly been as welcomed by them as your letter claims, then flee, Harry Potter, flee this country as soon as you can, and take all your useless underlings with you. _

_ 'Perhaps your plea on behalf of the Mudbloods has some legitimacy. I suppose the two of us would form prime examples of the need for an injection of new blood into even the oldest lines. Even Grindelwald- did you know that? He, too, was no more than a Halfblood, a mongrel, a mixed race. And yet, we three form the most powerful wizards this world has seen in far too long a time… I will grant you this boon, Harry Potter. I will take that vow of yours. If you will leave England as soon as that pathetic excuse of a competition is over, our feud is settled. Never return. I will not be so lenient a second time._

_ 'Lord Voldemort.'_

Harry was nearly breathless at the end of the letter. He looked up from the heavy parchment to see twelve beaming faces looking back at him.

"Good thing I thought to bring the champagne," Branimir murmured.

"Well, that's it then," Amos said, rubbing his hands together. "Harry, Viktor, I'm counting on you two to make Cedric welcome at Durmstrang next year."

"Of course," Viktor replied, looking affronted that Amos could ever think anything in the contrary. But Harry just gaped at the two of them.

"What?" he exclaimed. "Durmstrang? Cedric, you're moving out of the country?"

The honey-blond boy and his father exchanged a patient, rueful look, and then he said, "You didn't really think once the Tournament ended, things would go back to normal?" When Harry blushed, he hurriedly continued,

"Or, well, maybe you did. But it won't, Harry. By this time, people've had more than enough time to choose which side they're on. Unfortunately, it's just us on yours. So when you leave England, Harry, we're following."

"I'm going to France though," Luna said dreamily, "But that isn't too far away. I'm sure we'll visit often, and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang often have exchange programmes."

"We'll be moving the press, too," Xeno added, "so remember to keep up your subscription to the Quibbler!"

"Harry, surely you must've thought about where you'd be going to school next year?" Liliya asked gently, When Harry only turned redder, she laughed and pulled him into a warm embrace. "Don't you ever change, child," she said fiercely.

Sirius's eyes were shining like the star he was named for. "Oh, kiddo," he whispered, burying him in a furious hug. Remus just gave him a smile full of drowsy golden warmth.

Harry couldn't remember ever feeling safer in his life. When he felt Viktor's calloused fingers drifting through his hair, he shut his eyes tight and finally gave into the tears.

* * *

I fear that Harry appears a little too fragile in this, but the letter catches him at an exceptionally vulnerable moment, so I'm going to ignore all that (o: This might be a little too quick and easy, but I'd like to think that Voldemort recognises his true opponent isn't Harry. And I was going to have Voldemort read Witch Weekly along with the Daily Prophet, but that might've been too much (o:

The next chapter will be the longest, and the last, out about this time next week. It's the final chapter and also includes the epilogue set twelve years in the future. Cheers.


	12. Chapter 12

**World Enough and Time**

Summary: On the night four names are drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Viktor spies the figure of young Harry Potter from aboard the Durmstrang ship and makes a decision that will rock the entire wizarding world.

Rating: T

* * *

_The Third Task_

"In the lead we have Viktor Krum of Durmstrang with 47 points; Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons with 39 points; Hogwarts representative Cedric Diggory with 36; and our youngest Champion is trailing significantly with 30 points." Bagman was seething as no one in the stands was really paying attention to him. None of the Champions had been awarded any points after the fiasco of the Second Task, so they were going off the ranking of their dragon duels- much to Durmstrang's delight. Karkeroff himself had seemed oddly apathetic, but out of habit no one really paid any attention to him. The gap between first and last was only exacerbated by the Russian headmaster's earlier irrational bias and the stupidity of the English judges. Madam Maxime was having more fun watching the fools her fellow judges made of themselves than the tournament itself.

In fact, no one really cared about the tournament anymore either. The whole thing was just a huge farce. The only thing keeping Dumbledore from an immediate sacking was a fact that this tournament had to be concluded before the Goblet of Fire would release any of the participants and officials from their obligations. Political vultures were awaiting him though, swooping lazily overhead and waiting in the wings, most noticeably among them Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge. They would see the old man crucified for this. Britain didn't even have enough to warrant itself as an international laughingstock; her conduct in this international tournament had been too ludicrous to even trigger humour as a response.

The four youths stood before the savage twenty-foot maze, utterly calm. Despite the rather obvious physical aspect to this last task, they were all dressed to the nines. Viktor and Harry, as they were wont to by now, cut slick, lithe figures in navy and jet with Bulgaria's roaring lions on their breast. Fleur wore the powder-blue of Beauxbatons under a beautiful shimmering silver robe. And beside her, in black robes stylishly accented with yellow, was Cedric Diggory. By wearing only his house colours, Cedric was very publicly announcing that the only ones in Hogwarts worth his loyalty were Hufflepuff. That was going to be a delicious treat for tomorrow's papers.

Finally Bagman gave up trying to rouse the crowd into some sort of awareness and snarled, _"BEGIN!"_

Almost at once the audience sunk into a respectful hush, which made the retired Beater sputter with outrage. Oh, the crowd still had respect for the participants of course, just not the ones running it.

Viktor was the first forward, wand raised. When he made no move to step into the maze proper, people began to whisper. He flicked his wrist sharply and snapped, "Inflamula Maxeo!"

Bagman turned to shriek at the Quidditch superstar. "What do you think you're _doing?"_

Viktor merely turned to the seedy man and said, "Giving de crowd deir money's worth, obviously. You could not honestly have been wanting them to watch _hedges_ for de next hour or so?" The sulking look on Bagman's face told him _yes, _that had been _exactly _what he'd expected, and the rumbling in the stands swelled.

The white flames began to spread, and the creatures within the blaze began to scream and charge out at the waiting Champions. Fully grown blast-ended skrewts, acromantulas, boggarts, sphinxes and minotaurs all charged out at them. At once the three older teens shot into action, forming a three-pronged shield before their youngest member, curses falling from their lips and wandtips to incapacitate their foes.

Harry, for his own part, was gazing past his three fellow Champions to the maze with an intense look on his face. Viktor's spell had begun the flames, but the hedges were incredibly tall and thick, and didn't burn as well as they would have liked.

In Salazar's journals, they had discovered that Parseltongues shared an affinity for flame. As Harry quieted his mind and reached out with his magical senses, he could feel the heat and warmth enveloping him, cocooning him safely, and he let his eyes slip close briefly at the feeling of utter security. The loss of his wand meant no loss of his magical core; it was all just a matter of getting in tune with it, a technique Salazar had carefully documented nearly a thousand years ago. Viktor had made sure he'd practiced this hard. Stretching out his hand beyond his defensive wall of three older Champions, he felt for the magic uncurling within his chest. Then he opened his eyes, and they flashed gold for the barest moment before he hissed.

_"Fiendfyre!"_

The shrieking in the stands reached a whole new pitch. Viktor's _Inflamula Maxeo _evaporated from the sheer raging heat of the fiendfyre, which stretched out in tangles and ropes of hissing basilisks and roaring dragons. They virtually savaged the hedges, easily ripping through them and destroying them in a merciless blazing inferno. Harry's outstretched hand was trembling; his black spectacles were slipping down his tiny button nose; perspiration was pouring down his face, and his emerald eyes now looked as though they were ringed with gold.

A fifty-foot basilisk of fire shot through the entire maze, its hissing clearly audible even above the magnificent flames. Dragons were swooping above and dive-bombing the hedges, licks of flame flowing between their incorporeal bodies and the main flames below. Suddenly there was a pop in the back of his mind, causing him to gasp and nearly lose control of the raging fire. The three Champions glanced back in alarm, although going by their dazed expressions, they'd clearly experienced that strange pop as well. Harry waved off their concern, concentrating instead on pulling his magic back into his core to rein the flames back in.

That had been the signal they were all waiting for: the Triwizard Cup had been destroyed. Now no one could retrieve it. The contract had been fulfilled; the tournament was over.

The dragons screamed, unwilling to go quietly, but Harry's fingers were clenching, and gradually closing. One of the last few dragons dove for them, but dissipated into strips of fire before it reached them; the strips themselves wound about the remaining creatures from the maze, caging them and concluding their fight with his fellow Champions.

"Banish them, please," Harry said hoarsely, exhaustion creeping into his voice. Quickly, the three older ones did as they were asked, and under his bleary gaze the wisps of flame finally disappeared. Harry sagged, a tinge of grey colouring his skin. Despite his abilities, he was still for the most part an untrained fourteen-year-old without a focus, and at the moment a First-Year could have probably taken him on and won.

Viktor immediately pulled him to his side, supporting him, and the other two Champions flanked him, wands out on guard. He caught sight of his father on the stands, and the man nodded.

In an instant there were wizards and witches bearing the Bulgarian Coat-of-Arms converged on the Quidditch field. At their head, dressed in her official regalia as Commander of the Royal Knights of Bulgaria, was Liliya Krum. Interspersed among the Bulgarians on the field were the Durmstrang students, their dark coloured robes allowing them to blend in almost seamlessly. With the students slipped in Sirius, Remus, the Lovegoods, and Amos Diggory, all of them swarming about their friends and family protectively.

"Now that the Triwizard Tournament is over and the Triwizard Cup destroyed, Bulgaria will be reclaiming their political refugees," Branimir announced in his calm, collected manner from among the crowd. Heads swivelled in bewilderment and surprise as the crowd slowly realised what was happening. Blue eyes darted around in alarm, not quite able to summon their usual twinkle. Karkaroff turned in a whorl of his cloak and retreated into the night.

Branimir descended regally from the stands, his arm bearing the royal insignia of Bulgaria. "I am the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, Branimir Krum." Gasps erupted all over the stands as this revelation spread like wildfire. That surname was unmistakeable- although not in the realm of politics. Dumbledore looked ripe to keel over at any moment as he watched his weapon, having finally bared its fangs, walk away from him for the last time. "We are here only to retrieve the Durmstrang students and our political refugees," he reassured the crowd.

The large party made their way to the Durmstrang ship unmolested. No one even gave a thought as to where their errant ex-headmaster- he'd been summarily dismissed- had disappeared to. By that time, Viktor was carrying Harry in his arms, the boy utterly exhausted from his exertions.

In the furore raised, the Beauxbatons pupils, along with Madam Maxime and the Lovegoods, slipped away to their carriage. Hagrid had their team of palomino Abraxans was already hitched to their leads and tossing their great heads impatiently, while he himself held the halter of another Abraxan procured from the Forbidden Forest. They left without anyone noticing, just as the Durmstrang ship sank back into the Lake with barely a ripple.

Back at the Hogwarts stands, Minerva McGonagall was abruptly discovered missing from the staff box, as was Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody, and two Dark Marks found blazoned into their seats. The ensuing panic was even worse than at the Quidditch World Cup.

And then there came a laugh that made everyone cringe in horror and disbelief. Neville's jowls were trembling in fright, and his skin had turned green. There had been a time when that laugh had been spread all over England, culminating in her arrest at the Longbottom Manor over the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. But she was supposed to be in Azkaban-

_"Morsemorde!" _

The cry came from several places at once, so it was impossible to identify who first cast it. But the multiple spells only reinforced the black mark burnt in the sky.

"Arise, my faithful!"

Fear made everyone quibble in their seats. Dumbledore surged to his feet, wand drawn. Behind him stood the staff of Hogwarts, quaking in their boots. Someone had been sent to gather the rest of the Order, but for now they had to hold their own, on their own. Snape was the palest they'd ever seen him.

"Tom, you must stop this folly," Dumbledore announced firmly, only to recoil at the sight of what awaited him.

Emerging from the smoking remains of the Quidditch field was a whole, hale, and healthy, Lord Voldemort. The man was as extraordinarily handsome as ever, looking barely a day over thirty despite the half-century since his birth. He was startlingly fit, with broad, velvet-covered shoulders, a trim waist, and sleek legs. When he spoke his voice sounded like honey and caramel. His dark, wavy hair was combed fetchingly away from his face and a sadistic smile curled about his luscious lips.

"You're actually surprised to see me, Dumbledore?" Voldemort veritably purred, stepping out and away, prowling forward with an erotic, feline grace. "But you shouldn't be. After all, you only spent an entire decade awaiting my return."

Gasps erupted all over the stadium at his words, and even some of the staff cast doubtful looks at the loopily-dressed man they stood behind. Dumbledore squared his jaw, but said nothing in his defence. Voldemort's smile deepened, not quite on the verge of gloating- yet.

"What _ever _would you like to know first, then, Dumbledore?" he mused. "How my rebirthing ceremony went? Or perhaps how I am even here in the first place?"

His smile turned sly and he turned, extending his hand to a figure trailing out of the smoke behind him.

"Karkaroff!" Pomfrey gasped, her hand fluttering over her breast at the sight of the Russian.

Voldemort's smile was directed entirely at her, and she flinched.

"Yes, who knew the pathetic coward could actually be useful."

As the man approached, they could see a deeply disturbing grin on his face that seemed most out of character for the dour headmaster. And then mid-step Karkaroff halted, and shuddered. The Hogwarts staff stared in demented awe as his skin bubbled away, reforming his features into a haggard visage that had once been cherubic- before his sentencing to Azkaban.

"Augustus Rookwood," Dumbledore gasped.

"Yes, we decided that it would be such a good revenge- turnabout is fair play, is it not, Augustus?"

The man bowed, a devious smile on his face. He was eerily attractive, his worn face framed by waving golden locks, and his baby-blue eyes shining blue in the night.

"Of course, My Lord. The wards- it was like stealing fizzing whizbees from a baby."

Dumbledore had given the headmasters of the foreign school access to the wards in order to make adjustments for their students, and Rookwood, in his days from the Department of Mysteries, had been a specialist in modifying wards. Using Karkaroff's magical signature to access the Hogwarts wards and change them to his suiting had been embarrassingly easy.

"Whatever did happen to Igor?" Voldemort asked conversationally, ignoring the horrified looks on their listeners' faces.

Rookwood laughed. "There is nothing left of him that is worth talking about, My Lord."

Voldemort's thin hand stroked a line down Rookwood's cheek. "Terribly fitting, of course…" Then he pierced Dumbledore with his sharp eyes.

"Such a shame, then, that it was only dearest Minnie, yes, your beloved Head Girl, Gryffindor Head of House, deputy Headmistress and all-around good screw- that _was _why you named her _Head_mistress, no?- only she got the invite for my cheery little rebirthing ceremony. Don't worry, Dumbledore," he cooed mockingly, "We missed you _terribly _and brought you a souvenir."

A ripple of shock riveted the crowd, and all the blood drained from Dumbledore's face. Voldemort tossed his head back and let out a cruel laugh, and something came flying out from the smoky depths behind him to thump heavily in the space before them. The Hogwarts staff was struck speechless by the blood-drained husk of Minerva McGonagall, recognised only by her tartan plaid robe, still shockingly intact. There was nothing human left of her.

"Since we're seeing all these familiar faces again…" an intimate smile wormed its way onto his lips, and his emerald eyes shone bright, so reminiscent of another boy who had already left tonight.

Snape suddenly doubled over from his place behind Dumbledore, left elbow clutched, and the staff glanced at him fearfully, now armed with the knowledge of what would happen, if indeed the call was answered.

People began popping in on either side of Voldemort, and Sprout nearly fainted. If Death Eaters could Apparate in, it was true then, what Rookwood had done: the Hogwarts wards, after standing for over a millennium, had finally fallen.

They came, in ones and twos, filling up the ranks beside and behind Voldemort, and the man himself was gloatingly confident. Dumbledore couldn't quite hide the shiver of apprehension in his old bones, and Voldemort, the damn smart lad that he'd always been, had to catch that.

"Cast your masks on the ground, faithful," he murmured.

Suddenly there was a change in the atmosphere. It was still thrumming and charged with tension, but swung violently from all-or-nothing to just plain all.

First to bare his face was the cold and haughty Lucius Malfoy. Beside him stood his wife, delicate and dangerous, Narcissa Black-Malfoy. Avery, Bole, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, then Crabbe and Goyle, Antonin Dolohov, Nott, Mulciber, Travers, Wilkes, Yaxley- more and more came, and more and more stood revealed. The shocker was Peter Pettigrew, whose seedy chin seemed to have regained some strength as he finally stood firm among his cohorts.

"And of course, my lovelies…" he hissed, raising his right arm and guiding forth a dark-haired woman by her chin. From her throat ripped loose another insane laugh. "I think you will find Azkaban most empty tonight." Long ripples of chocolate waves reached her waist. She was pale and gaunt, but her expression gave her all the vitality she needed. She bore Narcissa's features, despite her darker colouring, and looked hauntingly beautiful on the smoke-covered grounds. Beside her stood her husband and his younger brother, looking absolutely ravenous for the feast that was about to occur. All three looked disturbingly sane for having been in Azkaban for over a decade now.

"Arise, my faithful," Voldemort said again, and at his immediate left came a young, pale face that bore an uncanny resemblance to one of the tournament judges. Bartemius Crouch Jr. swept his straw-coloured hair from his brow as he bowed to his lord.

Bagman, still trapped in the stands, gaped at this newest revelation. "But how-" He whirled around to look for Crouch Sr., but the man was already gone.

"My Lord, if you will but allow me to clip your loose ends…"

Voldemort smiled again, lazy and languid. "A reward, Barty for your faithfulness."

"You are generous, My Lord." Barty bowed in gratitude. When he straightened, his sky-blue eyes were glinting cruelly as he looked straight at Snape. The sallow man started at the malice directed at him.

"You should never have forgotten who your Lord really was; join your Mudblood in hell!" Barty spat, raising his wand with an arm not of flesh and bone, but of a dazzling mercurial silver. Snape actually flinched at the slur, although he wasn't given the time to do much else; a bolt of putrid green came from behind and struck him in the back. Dumbledore's forces turned in shock at the first casualty on their side, and his murderer. There stood Bartemius Crouch Sr., his own sky-blue eyes disarmingly blank. Barty's smile grew into one that bared all his teeth, canines viciously included. His father raised his wand again, but pointed at his own throat this time.

"Diffindo," he croaked, and crumpled in a vivid spray of copper-scented scarlet..

Bellatrix let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter. "Marvellous show, Barty!" she commended. She turned fawning eyes to Voldemort. "My Lord, we live but to serve."

"And indeed you will," Voldemort said fondly. Then he turned his emerald eyes onto blue ones that weren't quite able to twinkle anymore. "How does it feel, Dumbledore, to be so totally abandoned. I do believe the Ministry…" he glanced at the silver-haired man standing immediately behind him on the right.

Malfoy bowed at the attention. "It awaits your every command, My Lord."

More of the Order began to pale. There had only been the barest bones of reinforcements, and they had wondered where the Aurors were. Surely, someone must have heard…but now they knew no respite would be found from that avenue.

"And of course, your…dearest…Saviour."

Every word was mocking.

"Where is he now, I wonder?"

Voldemort's face twisted in an evil smirk. "More than halfway to Bulgaria, having washed his hands of every last one of you. Good riddance, I think he'd say. "

"He will return!" Dumbledore declared strongly. In the silence of the Quidditch field, his voice carried across the stands. "He will not stand for the injustice-"

Voldemort burst out laughing in genuine mirth, and people gawked at this unusual sight. Bellatrix and Barty stared up at him adoringly, while those from the Order looked downright horrified.

"Injustice?"

His voice cracked like a whip above their heads.

"Done to whom? To Harry Potter, the boy-you-sentenced-to-live-for-ten-years-in-the-cupboard-under-the-stairs?"

No one could find any words to say to that.

"I thought so," Voldemort said silkily. "Harry Potter will not return. He will not be saving anyone. After all, who ever bothered to save him?" Those last words were cruel and striking right to the heart. He turned casually to the straw-haired man by his side. "Barty, don't you have something for Dumbledore?"

The man's blue eyes brightened. "Of course, My Lord, forgive my forgetfulness." A sinister smile began to grow on his lips, and he dug two items from the inside of his robes and tossed them carelessly on top the corpse of Minerva McGonagall. The Order stared hopelessly at the peg leg and ever-present flask of Alastor Moody. Barty then pulled out a revolving magical eyeball and tossed it up and down like a tennis ball.

"I'm afraid I'll be keeping this," he told the petrified Order. "I'm rather fond of it myself. Besides, I wore it for an entire year."

This final dupe practically crippled the Order. The last thing anyone heard before the slaughter commenced was a warbling cry of a phoenix, hastily cut off.

But Harry Potter didn't know any of this. He didn't know how McGonagall had unwillingly vanished together along with 'Moody' from the stands about the time Bagman had cried 'begin'. He didn't know how Pettigrew had gone to Azkaban with Lucius Malfoy in his Animagus form some time before Yule to perform a 'routine check' and how they, with the aid of the Dementors, had emptied all the cells of Death Eaters and replaced them with permanently transfigured Kissed guards. He didn't know how Narcissa had, under the cover of her usual teatime parties, disseminated news of the Lord's return and word of his plans to return to power. No, Harry Potter lay safe and cradled in Viktor Krum's arms aboard the Durmstrang ship, already more than a hundred miles away, unconscious to all else in the world around him.

* * *

_Twelve years later_

"Dad!"

The Bulgarian Quidditch star turned and smiled at the sight of his son flying down the stairs to fling himself into his father's arms, as utterly undignified as his daddy. Tihomir Potter-Krum was his biological son created through a mixture of Muggle and magical means; they had had their genes mixed through magic and used Muggle surrogacy with a Bulgarian witch to carry the child to term. His son was just four, and just as horribly precocious as his husband.

As a result of their procedure, Tihomir had dark hair from both his fathers, although his was easily tidied, thankfully. He also had his daddy's unmistakeable green eyes. Said daddy emerged from their bedroom a couple moments later, tripping on the last stair and nearly careening headfirst into the wall. Harry only barely managed to catch himself in time, and shook his head ruefully.

While they may have had to resort to artificial means to have a child, it certainly hadn't been for lack of trying. Their honeymoon had lasted nearly half a year and took them through all six inhabited continents of the world. Viktor had never been more glad that he was still young, having just turned twenty-two the day of their bonding ceremony. He didn't think he could've kept up with his husband otherwise.

The timid boy he'd once known had become quite the insatiable voracious minx, at eighteen barely on this side of legal, with flashing viridian eyes and a Quidditch-toned body. The last few months before their ceremony had been positively agony for Viktor. His then-fiancé had just happened to dress and undress with the same lack of self-consciousness and decorum he'd possessed four years earlier while they'd been sharing a cabin aboard the Durmstrang ship, baring far too much of that sleek, tanned skin for his comfort.

It certainly didn't help that they still shared a room, the boy having moved in upon first reaching Bulgaria and having never left. If Viktor didn't know better, he would have sworn the boy had been as innocent as ever, but one glint of those devious verdant eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"Oops," he offered Viktor, a helpless smile playing on his lips. He reached the older man and slid one arm around his waist, one arm about his child, and kissed his husband, leaving him breathless.

"Harry," Viktor rasped, burying his nose in unruly black locks.

The younger man giggled, and kissed Tihomir on the cheek. In return the child pressed his lips to the corner of his father's mouth. "Kisses for everyone!" he crowed sunnily, and smacked his daddy on the lips.

The two men fell into laughing. It was a good mood between their small family.

"Liliya and Branimir are coming over to pick us up, and then we'll all see you later at the stadium," Harry murmured. "You should be going now." His green eyes shone briefly. "I'll make it up to you later."

Another life, and another Quidditch World Cup. Bulgaria, with their star Seeker, had won every subsequent Cup and was looking to claim it once more, this time from Israel. They were twelve years' worth of good times, happy times. Even when he had awoken in Bulgaria and heard news of the relatively tame takeover- the massacre had, after all, been limited to the Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix members, and the Hogwarts staff- he had put it out of his mind, first for Viktor's sake, and then for Tihomir's sake, and finally, years after the event had occurred, for his own.

True to his word, Voldemort never extended his reach to Bulgaria. He had been content with reigning over Britain with an iron fist. After the first few years, when things had begun to quiet down, the entire wizarding world was granted a look at how much more efficient the Dark-run British Ministry of Magic had been in the first International Confederation of Wizards to convene since the coup d'état. Sure enough, laws for Muggleborns were much more stringent than they'd been in the past, but at least there hadn't been any other surprises.

Harry hadn't felt any of that was particularly unexpected. His cynical side had flourished under the Bulgarians' watchful eye, and he had told them, quite frankly, that despite all the murdering and torture, Voldemort chose people with at least _some _modicum of intelligence, which was infinitely more than he could say for the so-called Light side.

After a stunned silence- they certainly hadn't been expecting _that_ vehemence- Branimir slowly began to laugh, and attested to his son-in-law's claim. His dealings with the British Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, had proven that much as well.

But Harry had wondered why Lucius had retained his ministry position, as he had expected Voldemort to claim that title. He was obviously much more than a titular ruler, but he didn't have the 'legal' power Lucius wielded. That one, Branimir had been glad to answer.

"Ministers can't _Crucio _people, Harry," he had said patiently, "But Dark Lords can. Besides, it'll still be a long while before the British can accept a Dark Lord Minister of Magic, and knowing what kind of rituals Voldemort put himself under, it doesn't surprise me if he'll outlive Malfoy to actually see that happen."

Harry couldn't disagree with that, even though he himself wouldn't be waiting on baited breath. He simply didn't- wouldn't- care anymore. He had left England, to glory or to ruin, much like how England had left him to the unforgiving clutches of its Muggle population.

A new calm settled over him as he took Tihomir from Viktor, and watched his husband mount his broom, the new –punnily enough- Lightningbolt. Harry himself had been on one of the spell development teams for the creation of this new broom that had easily outraced a Firebolt to claim the title of fastest broom in the world, and had even been the first test rider. He didn't play professional Quidditch anymore, preferring to leave that to his husband, although he was probably one of the few who could keep up with Viktor on a broom.

Harry watched Viktor soar off, Tihomir squirming in his arms to wave goodbye and good luck. As things went, he barely even remembered the life he'd had before this. Somehow, they always seemed to incur some sort of pain. Even his first meeting with the only memories he'd had of his former life- Luna, Cedric, Hagrid, Remus, Sirius- Luna he'd met when she was fleeing the abuse of her Ravenclaw housemates; Cedric he'd met just briefly before falling a hundred and fifty feet, comatose; Hagrid he'd met on a very lonely eleventh birthday in a hut on a rock in the middle of the sea; Remus he'd met right after confronting the Dementors; and Sirius he'd met just in time to have him ripped away again.

Tihomir was squalling for attention again, and Harry tore his mind away from the unwelcome memories and smiled at him. The toddler squealed with delight and showered his daddy with kisses. If Harry had his way, Tihomir was going to be the most affectionate child in the whole of Bulgaria. He was going to be everything _he _never had the chance to be.

"Harry, Tihomir-"

He turned in time to see Liliya waltzing through their front door.

"Grandmama!"

At his son's cry Harry let the child down so he could run to his grandmother, and kiss her soundly. They spoke almost exclusively in Bulgarian now, rarely ever resorting to the language of his childhood unless Remus and Sirius were feeling nostalgic, and perhaps Amos. He grinned as he saw Liliya cooing and coddling the boy.

"How in the world did Viktor end up the way he did if you brought him up?" he teased.

Liliya Krum pouted adorably, hardly acting her half of her sixty years. She had aged well, with only deepened crow's feet and the lines about her mouth telling the truth about her age. Her chestnut hair twisted into an elegant knot at the base of her neck was still as dark as the day she'd been born.

"Blame him!" she declared, pointing a hand imperiously at the husband who'd just walked through the door. Branimir looked startled at the attention, but then he saw the laughing faces, and began to laugh himself.

"We should go soon," Harry finally said, holding his arms out for his son so they could Apparate together. "Viktor'll be worried when we don't show up on time."

"You mean Viktor'll be worried if _you_ twodon't show up," Liliya smirked. Harry ducked his head and blushed, but he could hardly deny the accusation. The last time they'd been late because Tihomir had decided to throw a tantrum, Viktor had lost his head and nearly mobilised the National Guard before someone had enough common sense to ask him if he'd checked their house.

Tihomir trilled, delightedly, and smothered Harry's neck with kisses. "Daddy's embaaaaaa-rrassed!"

"Alright, alright, let's go already!" Harry stammered, his entire face as red as a Weasley's.

Liliya and Branimir stood framed in the doorway, haloed by soft golden sunlight, warming him with their heartfelt smiles. They'd become the parents he'd never had, and Viktor and Tihomir had claimed the greatest loves of his life. He never thought he could've had this kind of life, but the Bulgarians had marched right into his life and never left. It still amazed him sometimes. Then Liliya sighed, distracting him. "I know that look," she began plaintively to Branimir. "It'd probably be better if we took Tihomir for the night, wouldn't it-"

"I'll have to agree on this one," Branimir said solemnly, "I'd hate for him to catch an eyeful of what his fathers are up to every night, especially at this age-"

Harry's cheeks burst into flames- yet again. "Branimir!" he squawked. In his arms the boy was laughing and squalling, thrilled by his daddy's embarrassment, even if he didn't fully understand why. Branimir burst out into hearty laughter and clapped him on the back, gently guiding his sons out of their house.

"Let us go," he said again. "Viktor is waiting."

The words brought a tender smile to Harry's face, even if the rose hadn't fully faded from his face. _Viktor was waiting. _He had, for him, no less, all these years. And now he didn't have to, not any longer.

"He is waiting," Harry agreed, shifting Tihomir in his grip. He couldn't quite hide the bashful smile spreading over his face. "It's about time we did something about that."

Laughing, the group made their way out of the cottage, the door swinging close behind them.

* * *

When Voldemort says turnabout is fair play, he's referring to giving Karkaroff to Rookwood, as the traitor had given up Rookwood's name in an effort to save his own skin after the First War, causing him to be sentenced to Azkaban. He was freed sometime before Karkaroff's meeting with Moody at the Yule Ball in time for them to make the switch then.

Names

Tihomir – derived from the Slavic elements 'tih' for 'quiet' and 'mir' for 'peace'.

I'm afraid that's all, folks (o: Later this week I will begin posting the prologue to **Old Hearts Remember, **an AU featuring Blaise/Harry for Dreams0rule0the0earth. The summary is up on my profile. Thank you so much for the continued support throughout this endeavour. Cheers!


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